Chapter 1: Capitol Corridor

Above me, my new lover was shuddering through her first orgasm. Already, her skin was getting damp with sweat from her vigorous cowgirling. Val, a tall and striking blonde, had come home with me after we met on a California commuter train. Over my face, her large breasts quivered as the shocks abated.

“You didn’t come, Barry? Wow. I LOVED that, but I want you to come. I can blow you, reverse myself, go doggie, or missionary. Tell me, what would you like?”

“I choose E—all of the above.”

“That’s hilarious, ABCDE. You’re my first lawyer; I should have known.”

“Val, I want to savor you, like a fine meal. Actually, how about F? I want to eat your pussy. C’mon, park your delicious ass and spread your legs for me. If I get lost in there, just guide me. No, don’t frown; I’m joking.”

“OK, but not too much; I’m really sensitive right after I come.”

“Aren’t we all? You’re really beautiful down there; I love the blonde curls. Mnph!”

As requested, I took it easy on her, focusing my tongue on her labia instead of her clit, which had nosed out from underneath its little garage. Her hands caressed my head tenderly.

“Missionary?” I asked.

“Please!”

I scooted up until we were eye-to-eye and slipped in my cock. She made a happy groan and raised up to kiss me, disregarding her own juices on my lips. I considered that a good sign.

Ninety minutes later, Val was asleep, her luscious body cuddled against me in my big bed. In the space of (perhaps) nine hours, she completely upended my life. In spite of our vigorous ABCDF lovemaking session, I was too wound up to fall asleep easily. I couldn’t have imagined such an exciting end to this day, and I was replaying everything that happened since I got on the train this morning.

One of the best parts of retiring early: no more rushing from place to place. I never enjoyed spending hours of my life behind a steering wheel while creeping down a clogged freeway. I was “only” 46, but I left the legal profession with a pile of money. It was good fortune for me, although it came from a terribly bad experience for my clients.

You see, I was a successful injury lawyer, admitted to the bar (licensed to practice) back when I was 26. I settled a huge case for a large group of those clients, and that’s why I was a wealthy young retiree. My time was my own, and I didn’t want to drive long distances through California’s heavy traffic. Instead, I hopped a passenger train to return home after my lunch date.

Driving south 40 minutes or so from San Francisco brings you to the famous (or notorious) Silicon Valley, anchored by San Jose, population 1 million. Adjoining San Jose is the city of Santa Clara, now well known for Levi’s Stadium—where the San Francisco 49ers play. Also in that city is my alma mater, Santa Clara University, where I completed my JD (law) degree.

I’d gone for lunch with one of my favorite old SCU professors. Afterwards, I got back onto the interurban Capital Corridor passenger train for a $50, 150-mile ride returning back to my home in Rocklin, a town northeast of Sacramento in the Sierra Nevada foothills. My hideaway, designed and built for privacy and comfort, was in the hills near the train station.