Chapter 42

(Back in New York City)

I kept my eyes closed for a long time after I accepted the fact that I was back in my own time once again.

Some changes had taken place during the transition that seemed puzzling but in retrospect I sensed that they were the best options for conflicting data. My watch was back on my wrist and the time was only minutes after my shift in time back into the last century in that subway train in Brooklyn.

It felt reassuring on my hand like an old friend keeping me company at a difficult time. My hair was cut short like it had been before I went on my eight year journey into the past. My clothing was only slightly changed and I suspected the men’s styles were not that different over the years after all. I certainly couldn’t say the same about female fashions. The females in my passenger car jumped into my field of view as soon as I opened my eyes. They were all dressed like street walkers in comparison with the dress styles of the 1870s.

Exposed bare ankles and knees and shoes that had elongated spiked heels that boosted their backsides into a constant state of forward leaning anticipation of God only knows they had in mind.

I shouldn’t want you to think I am complaining about the change.

I find such brevity of female dress most stimulating to my over-sexed libido but I fear it was a shock to the system to have so much female flesh close at hand and still be restrained from reaching out and touching it in an inappropriate manner. The heavy wrapping of feminine assets in normal situations back in the nineteen century was of benefit in preventing men from falling into nasty habits or getting into trouble with temptation at every turn. I didn’t fully realize that until I fell so rapidly back into my future time era with no time to adjust to the impact.

My navy colt was absent from my waistband and my little derringer two-shot was no longer in my side pocket. I imagined that it was for the best because firearms were not as welcome in heavily policed urban areas and there were numerous laws enacted to prohibit carrying firearms in many places with severe penalties for violators that scoffed at the prohibition. I personally felt that a lot of those new restrictions were violations of constitutional rights under the second amendment of the Constitution but I had to agree it was not wise to fight “City Hall” in such matters.

As if in consolation, a folded pocket blade of about four inches was in my left side pocket and it was as sharp as a razor blade and ready for nasty business. My recollection of the law was that if it was less than four and a half inches it was legal to carry without special permission.

I noticed a young woman of tender years was watching me with amusement in her deep blue eyes. Obviously, there was little chance of our being acquainted because if she aged normally, she would have only been about twelve years old when I was sucked back into the space-time continuum for my adventures in the mid-nineteenth century. The twenty year old female wore an above the knee short skirt that exposed her pink panties each time she crossed or uncrossed her legs. I am witness to the fact that she did that exact thing no less than a dozen times whilst I ogled her shapely form. Still, that didn’t quite explain her attraction to me and I was embarrassed to discover my masculine equipment had unfurled under my tight custom cut trousers and my less than dormant staff was visibly excited at the variety of exposed female flesh in every direction. It was completely my fault and I knew it was not wise to be so transparent in lack of restraint.

I closed my eyes for a period of time and managed to return to a state of relative calm.

The passenger train was much more modern than the Union Pacific train I had boarded at the train station in Iowa after a transcontinental transit of the entire central portion of the lower forty-eight. I had noticed at the station that there were an assortment of railroad train services going to every nook and cranny of the entire east coast. I had selected the Union Pacific one because it was a slightly cheaper ticket and I was familiar with the design of the passenger car.

There was no comparison between those rudimentary transport cars and this streamlined passenger car built with the comfort of the passengers a top priority. I was reminded of the difference between the Wells Fargo stagecoaches and the Butterfield stagecoaches in isolated areas of the frontier territory. The newer Wells Fargo units had advanced suspension systems and nicely padded interiors inside the coach. They were so superior that ladies in a family way were likely to use them knowing the risk of harm to their as yet undelivered offspring was minimal.

After that inauspicious beginning back in my old time era, I made certain to keep my eyes above the ladies shoulders to eliminate any chance of my disgraceful repeat of ungentlemanly manners. My equipment remained at ease and the females around me chattered on totally ignoring me in the midst unaware that I was definitely a tiger on the prowl and not a domesticated pussy cat.

I had gotten the impression that most of the female passengers were actually housewives or fiancées making a trip into the big city to do some shopping all financed by some sugar daddy or husband of means and that they were not averse to soaking up a bit of spirits along the way. They seemed to be more the wine or martini segment of womanhood rather than beer drinkers with a bunch of kids sleeping in the back bedrooms.