Chapter 8: Sweet Home Chicago

March 15th, 1995, 6:40 EST; Mile 770; 2 miles east of Garrett, IN

Oh dear god, no! George thought as he lay there, his cum all over both of them, How the hell am I going to handle this?

“Jill,” he stammered, “I love you, I really do, and I want to do everything with you, like you couldn’t believe, but we can’t do this here.”

“Why not?”

“With the circumstances involving your minor status,” George tried to explain, “your aunt and uncle, your other uncle, your custody situation. We have to keep everything strictly legal and above board as much as we can. Otherwise we are both going to be in a lot of trouble. Plus, with your history, I don’t want to push you too fast.”

Jill grabbed a hand towel off of the ledge and began cleaning herself off.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell on you,” she replied calmly, “George, with everything I experienced with my Uncle Lance, it was all hell. It was all about his power and dominance, pain and hurt, that’s what his sick mind wants. He even thinks it is what love is. The way we’ve been cuddling and snuggling and kissing and sharing everything, the way the sharing is more important than anything else, its been therapeutic, it really has. I want to know what it feels like to go all the way with somebody who actually loves me. Try to replace all the horrible memories I have.”

He kissed her, again, by way of reassurance.

“We need to be careful, Jill,” George replied, “We are in very dangerous territory, we could, well, I could go to prison, Tiny, too. If we keep this on the safe side, and on the up and up, until we have this mess sorted out, legally, everything will be better for both of us, trust me.”

“I’ll wait,” she sighed, “If you really insist. But not long. I want you, I want you very desperately. I want you inside me, I want you every which way. I’ve been there before, now I want to do it right.”

George looked at her frankly, “Okay, I don’t want to wait for long, either. You’re so beautiful. Your body is almost as stunningly beautiful as your smile, and your smile is out of this world.”

“You are, uh...” she started, searching for words, “Well, I’d call you hairy but it wouldn’t do justice to how much hair you have.”

“Yeah, they used to call me Mr. Bear,” he said with a smile.

She came over to him and held him. It was soft and sweet, friendly and caring. She didn’t want him to think that it was all about sex for her, either. She wanted so much more than that from him. She didn’t want to have sex so much as make love, over and over, for hours at a time. For her, what had happened, it had diminished the meaning of sex substantially. It had totally cheapened it. It had to be more than that to be meaningful and important.

She wanted to be in bed with him- a much bigger bed- alone, with nothing given that wasn’t wanted, nothing taken that wasn’t right for the taking. She wanted to work towards mutual pleasure, with neither of them dominating, neither taking advantage. She wanted it to be like she dreamed it could be, with the right person, and for the right reasons. She longed for the mutuality of it all, the sharing, the respect, the value of the mutual affection and love.

She used to be a simple and silly person. She still was; she worked hard to not take life seriously. If she took life too seriously, it would have broken her a long time ago. She could laugh almost anything off, and she spent a lot of time doing so. She even laughed the hell she had lived with off. She had to. But this, this love thing, this sex thing, it had to be serious. It had to be important, it had to mean something. At least with the one she loved. Its the only way for it to work.

She looked at George’s ridiculously hairy body with equal frankness. She could see he was still hard, she could see the desire in his eyes. She could see his want. She realized that turning her down was very hard for him, too, or at least she suspected this was so.

“You really do want me, don’t you?” she asked, looking searchingly into his eyes.

“Desperately,” he hissed, “But Jill, there is a time, and a place. This isn’t the time, nor the place. Trust me, the time and the place will come. I want it to. I want to spend the whole rest of our lives together. I want to share everything with you. But we need to be patient, now.”

For a split second, she was hurt. But only for a split second. She could still feel very much the strength of his desire, a palpable aura coming from him. His eyes shown with desire and want, on top of the obvious caring and love. She realized that turning her down must have been one of the hardest things he had ever done.

And it was. He wanted to go for a home run so badly, it almost hurt. But if this was love, and he was sure it was, this would come later. He didn’t want any unfair attachments. If this was the beautiful, wonderful, and loving person who he was going to spend the rest of his life with, he would let it become solid and permanent before they took it to bed.

They were both too young to rush these things. This wasn’t going to be a one night stand, like the times he had before. Those had been cheap, tawdry affairs, lacking in meaning or importance. This had to be different. She was a bit younger than him; sure, she was mature for her age, but it still felt a bit off, somehow. He wondered what his parents would think; after all he would need there help for any of this plan, and he hadn’t called them yet to talk about it. He couldn’t do this from the train; he’d need to call from Chicago Union Station.

He wanted to make sure he was playing this by some kind of rule book. So far he hadn’t committed a crime. Tiny may have. But he didn’t. He didn’t take her into his room. He didn’t ask her to come to his room. He didn’t ask her to take her clothes off. If things went wrong, and there was a chance they would, it would be better if they couldn’t use this crime, at least, to keep them apart. He didn’t want to be in a position to have justice perverted against them and used to make him look like the one who abused her.

He kissed her and held her very tightly against him, telling her that he deeply loved her and that they would do this in the future, he promised.

“All right, all right!” she snapped playfully, “But if I don’t get some food in my belly, I’m going to start eating YOU!”

The truth was she wanted to change the subject. Waiting for her was hard, and she didn’t want to go over it in endless permutations of what could and should be, couldn’t and shouldn’t be. Especially not why they should or should not be. Not unless it was going to convince George that what she wanted was to climax at about level twelve out of ten, from his dick in her pussy. Which he seemed to be almost intentionally dense at figuring out.

With that they got dressed and then George started to wonder. What exactly had happened to Krista and Justin? Were they still on the train? Did he run a chance of running in to them at breakfast? That wouldn’t be particularly good. With that question bugging him, he pressed the porter call button and within a few seconds, Uncle Dave was at the door.

“Good morn’n,” he started with a smile, “breakfast is bein’ served in the dining car, and also Tiny left this letter for ya.” Dave handed him a enveloped letter, with simply “George” hand written on the envelope. The envelope was Amtrak first-class stationary stock. The pointless arrow was on the envelope, in the red and blue colors. The paper was laid paper bond. It was nice stationary, frankly.

“Thanks, Uncle Dave,” George said, and Uncle Dave bowed out.

George tore open the envelope carefully, and pulled out the letter within. It was also Amtrak stationary, with the logo on the upper left corner, done in proper laid paper bonding. Tiny had written the letter with a fountain pen, his neat scrawl in the letter in a bright blue ink.

George:

I left the garbage at mile 385, about 10 miles from the nearest road. They were falling over, about to pass out drunk. They were wearing what they were wearing earlier, and I gave them some blankets. That’s all they had with them. They should be out of your way for some time. I would suggest, however, that you not ride the Chief as you planned. I would, in fact, suggest you go with the wind, if you get my drift.

Please throw this away. It would get me in trouble, obviously.

Good Luck,

Tiny

March 15th, 1995 7:32 AM; Mile 385; 18 miles west of Johnstown, PA

Among the stark white snow cover, one could see a red spot. The red spot started to move, very slowly, and two people sat up. Two very cold, and very achey people, not to mention ugly and nasty. Their heads pounded like the freight train passing by that had woken them up. They ached all over, a present from the god of hangovers for their overindulgence the night before. It was still very cold and they were shivering from spending the night sandwiched between two thin blankets in the snow.