The trend these days for actors was to have a little pot belly. They of course were allowed to get away with a little embonpoint. But let an actress have a slight belly bump…unless she was pregnant – which would cause one kind of frenzy….the entire media would sneer about how overweight she was. Let her then lose the weight and regain her stick-like figure, and they’d immediately begin to gossip that she was anorexic.
Pete had died his blond hair black, and grown a moustache along his upper lip which he had also died black. Now he was busy combing his hair along a center part.
Sasha, clad in a white lace bra and panties, ran her hands along his biceps and kissed his cheek. “You look soooooo sexy,” she murmured.
“Thank you.”
Then she pushed him out of the way. “I need the mirror to put on my dress,” she told him.
Pete took his comb and went into his bathroom to finish his hair job. The full length mirror was located in their bedroom, just beside the walk-in closet that held Sasha’s wardrobe.
Sasha slipped the white silk evening gown from its padded hanger and stepped into it, pulling the cool strap across her neck. The dress was backless, and she felt an anticipatory shiver of Pete’s warm hand resting against her shoulder blades.
Sasha gazed at herself in the mirror. She filled the dress out nicely. Her golden tan set off the whiteness of the dress and vice versa. The swell of her breasts were just evident for those who cared to enjoy the sight, and the folds of the dress embraced her flat belly and then swirled about her ankles – it was an evening dress copied from the fashions of 1934, after all. Her arms were not pipe-stems, but rather firm with a demonstrable bicep – she was an avid swimmer and tennis player and she needed muscles.
Pete returned to her side, his own dressing complete. He wore black shoes, their uppers polished so well they shone like mirrors. His tuxedo was black, with a white cambric shirt and a white bow tie, and the white carnation in his boutonniere was fresh and standing at attention.
“Oh, baby,” he said, placing his hands on the smooth, firm skin of her shoulders and nuzzling her neck. “You look gorgeous. Do we really have to wait?”
“Just another couple of hours, my darling,” Sasha responded. “Now, where’s Asta?”
They took a cab to Penn Station. The driver had raised an eyebrow at their appearance, and true to the chatty nature of cab drivers he asked them where they were going and what they were doing dressed like movie stars out for a night on the town…at two o’clock in the afternoon.
They had told him they were going on a murder mystery train, and sad to say the driver couldn’t identify who they were supposed to be…they didn’t enlighten him.
They decanted at Penn Station. Their re-enactment of a scene from their favorite movie was further marred by the fact that there were no porters to be had…it was self service all the way. But they’d been aware that would happen, and Pete tipped his top-hat to a rakish tilt and then pushed their baggage-laden trolley ahead of him with a fine insouciance. Meantime, Sasha pulled her own little trolley on wheels on which a realistic wire-haired fox terrier toy-dog stood.
“This really destroys the ambiance we’re trying to create,” she grumbled. “No live dogs. No smoking. Afternoon instead of evening.”
“Now, dear,” spoke Pete, trying his best to do a William Powell accent, “We know that live dogs wouldn’t have been allowed in 1934, either. Remember in Song of the Thing Man they had to ride with Asta in the baggage car. Before that they probably just snuck him into their sleeper, and we can’t risk getting caught. It’ll put a crimp in our afternoon delight.”
“We should have risked it,” Sasha grumbled. “Add a little spice to this caper.”
“I’ll be adding a little spice to this caper in another hour or so,” Pete said meaningfully.
They acquired quite a few glances from people on the platform as they walked by to their own, first class car, but no one approached them. They handed their tickets to a conductor and he escorted them to their bedroom compartment.
The bedroom consisted of a huge picture window, through which they could gaze at the scenery passing by, upper and lower berths – the upper berth folded flat against the wall, ready to be lowered at the touch of a button, an armchair and sofa which could be converted to a lower berth, as well as a private toilet and shower.
They sat opposite each other across a table. From her suitcase, Sasha removed a tea service, placing cups and saucers on the table for herself and Pete. Into both cups she poured a measure of gin from a teapot.
They raised their cups.
“Here’s looking at you, kid,” said Pete, in a Bogart accent.
It was from the wrong movie, but Sasha didn’t correct him. “Here’s mud in your eye,” she responded.
They sipped their gin.
They were on the Lake Shore Limited (or Late Shore Limited, as it was affectionately known, owing to a propensity for it to always arrive at least an hour late at its ultimate destination, Chicago,)
And that’s where Pete and Sasha were going…ultimate destination, Mount Rushmore…but that would be a different train and a different movie.
The Lake Shore Limited did run on the same tracks that had once borne the famous 20th Century Limited, an express passenger train that had run from 1902 to 1967, once called the "Most Famous Train in the World".
The journey then had taken 16 hours, departing New York City westbound at 6:00 P.M. Eastern Time and arriving at Chicago's LaSalle St. Station the following morning at 9:00 A.M. Central Time., averaging 60 miles per hour.
The 20th Century had been famous for its style, "spectacularly understated ... suggesting exclusivity and sophistication" as the pundits had termed it.
“Here we go,” Sasha said, as there was a jerk, and the train began to move silently down the tracks and through the industrial portion of the city.
After finishing her gin, Sasha examined the plate glass window. It did have a louvered window treatment.
“What do you think, Pete?” she asked. “Should we louver out the rest of the world, or leave it open so we can gaze out at the scenery while we….”
“Once we get out of the city,” he said, “there’ll be no one to see. Let’s leave it open.”
Sasha smiled.
“Have some more gin,” suggested Pete. He lifted up the teapot.
“Just a little bit for me,” said Sasha. “I’m already feeling pretty loose and ready to go….”
Pete brought a CD boom box out of his suitcase and turned it on, and soft jazz by Duke Ellington bounced around the room.
Sasha sipped her gin and swayed her body to the music as Pete converted their lower berth to a bed, complete with white linen sheets.
He stood back and looked at it critically. “It’s going to be a narrow fit,” he said.
“Part of the charm,” said Sasha. “Come and undress me, darling.”
“I love this dress,” Pete murmured as he obliged. “It’s so easy to remove it.”
She stepped out of her dress and he laid it gently to one side. Then he took her and pushed her body – still clad in lace bra and panties, down onto the narrow bed.
He took off his own tuxedo jacket and slacks, and joined her on the bed clad only in his white tie and his white silk shorts.
For several minutes they simply lay side-by-side and kissed, lips only to start with, then deeper and deeper, until their tongues were dancing a gavotte with each other.
Pete grasped first one and then the other of Sasha’s wrists and pushed them up above her head, then held them there with one hand while he nibbled on the inner part of one arm.
“Mmmmmm,” murmured Sasha.
He raised a leg and moved over to straddle her, now kissing her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. He released her hands and raised her up slightly, so he could unclasp her bra and toss it aside. Then he began o suck on first one nipple and then the other.
“Ah, god,” murmured Sasha. She brought her hands down and wrapped her fingers in Pete’s hair, trying to push him down toward her aching crotch.
Pete reached down and grabbed her panties. She arced her back and lifted a leg and then the panties were gone. He continued to suck a nipple while he reached down and placed his other hand between her legs. The feeling of the wetness there excited him and he drove his ring finger deep inside her. Her back arced again, she pushed at his head, wanting him to go down further and work magic with his tongue.
Instead he continued to tease her. He reached up, seized her hand, and guided it down to his cock, poking out of the white silk. She began to rub it in time to his own timing of finger going in and out of her vagina. He abandoned her nipples and went up to kiss her, long deep kisses.
Soon the effect of her firm hand on his cock became unbearable. He reached down, removed her hand from his cock and guided it into her vagina…deep, deep. Then he began thrusting.
He raised up a bit so he could watch her face…her eyes were closed and her tongue was between her lips. She moved beneath him, thrusting her hips up against his. She ran her hands over his back, down to his hips…then up to his pecs.
Her eyes opened and she gazed up at him…. “Almost there,” she gritted. “Don’t stop..”
He continued to thrust himself deep within her, willing her to come quickly because he knew he was about to come…and then suddenly it happened and the wracking pleasure shook his legs and belly…
“Ummm,” he murmured, relaxing, remaining inside her, bearing most of his weight on his knees as he crouched on top of her.
The sound of the wheels along the rails…click…click…click, and the rhythmic motion of the train was an aphrodisiac…a few minutes later he had recovered enough to start thrusting again, while his very supple wife rested her legs on either of his shoulders as he went in deeper and deeper until he felt her shudder beneath him.
Then, he lowered her legs down, and lay beside her, and rested his head against hers, and slept.
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