Erotic Fiction: Stranger on a Train

A modernist paining of a woman in a blue suit sitting alone in a train car for Stranger on a Train by Malin James

Compartment C Car 293 by Edward Hopper (1938)

I wrote this ages ago in response to a challenge from F. Dot Leonora, who shares my love of Edward Hopper. I left it sitting in one of my files until I randomly remembered it this week. It was written so long ago that it needed some serious work, but it’s the kind of work I like to do, especially when I’m in a retro kind of mood….

Update: 3/17/18 

Will Crimson, of The Erotic Writer, is a formidable writer in multiple genres and I’ve enjoyed his work for a very long time. When someone you admire pays you a compliment, it means a lot, especially when that compliment comes in the form of a gorgeous story.

That gorgeous story is a mirror for “Stranger on a Train”. Will’s “Stranger on a Train” is the same story told from the man’s point of view and it’s brilliant – so, brilliant that I’m all kinds of honored and pleased (in fact, “pleased” doesn’t come close to expressing it). So, if you like Rose’s point of view, please check out J.D.’s – Will Crimson wrote the perfect guy for my filthy, classy dame.

Stranger on a Train

Rose tried not to tap her foot while the conductor fussed with her suitcase. She’d have preferred to handle it herself, but he’d insisted like men often do with attractive girls, so she waited while he checked her figure while stowing it in the rack. It didn’t help that her clothes were plastered to her skin.

Rose ignored him and thought about the storm lashing the compartment. After what felt like ages, the conductor waggled his brows and left. Rose sighed and touched her hat.

It had not been a good day. She’d bought that hat especially for her trip, and now it was a mess. She took it off and surveyed the damage before setting it aside. She’d have to hope it recovered while it dried. Rose looked at herself in the window and made a face. When she’d left her mother’s house, her hair had been a glossy, dark version of Veronica Lake’s sweep…. So much for that.

The train pulled out of the station and Rose sat back, grateful to be alone in a compartment. After getting pawed by her boss, dumped by her fiancé and soaked on the platform, she didn’t feel like talking to strangers.

Rose frowned. Her boss could go to hell, but it was a shame about Dan. He was a decent guy and her parents loved him – he already worked for her father and he wanted babies right away. It was Rose who had wanted to wait. But that was really just a symptom of their basic incompatibility….

It had taken months for them to move past kissing, and when they finally did – at Rose’s insistence – the results had been tepid at best. She and Dan had tried but, despite her mother’s disappointment, Rose had been relieved when he’d called the wedding off.  She wanted more than dry, chaste kisses and missionary sex – a fact that had become abundantly clear when she’d fallen asleep under Dan.

She wanted more than her job at the law firm too. She hadn’t graduated from Vassar with honors just to make coffee and get her ass pinched by horny, middle-aged men. Rose took out a compact and dabbed her nose.

“That’s really my problem,” she murmured. “I just want more.”

The train began to pick up speed. Rain streaking across the window like angry lines. Rose shifted, uncomfortble in her damp clothes. Finally, she took off her jacket and undid the top two buttons of her blouse, hoping it would dry faster that way. She was wondering what to do about her skirt when the compartment door slid open. Rose frowned, hoping it wasn’t the conductor.

It was definitely not the conductor.

A man poked his head in. He was young, for one thing. Rose glanced at him, curious. He was also, quite literally, tall, dark and handsome. In fact, he could’ve been in films. The handsome man took off his hat, which, by some miracle it was dry. Then his eyes flickered over her blouse, which reminded her that it was still unbuttoned. She blushed, but ignored the impulse to do it back up. That’s what her mother would do.

“Sorry, miss. Do you mind?”

The man gestured to the seat opposite hers. Rose shivered.

“Be my guest.”

He slid the door closed and settled down across from her. Their knees bumped as he sat. Rose felt the sudden urge to spread her legs. She crossed them instead. The man smiled. It was a rueful smile, but there was something else in it too…as if he were breathing in the scent of something he wanted to eat.

“Sorry. Long legs.”

Rose had no idea if he was referring to her legs or his own.

“That’s all right,” she said.

Attraction crackled between them. Rose looked out the window, giving him a look at her long, shapely neck. She was in unfamiliar territory, but she liked being there. She was curious. She wanted to see where it went.

But the man took out a book and didn’t say any more. Rose yawned, vaguely disappointed. But even as she leaned back, the feeling slipped away and she began to drift off, rocked by the train as it sped through the stormy landscape. Rose squeezed her thighs, savoring the flutter between her legs. It hummed along in time with the train, spiking, just a bit, with every railroad tie.

Rose dreamed she was on a train…and she was nude. It felt so good that she rubbed herself against the vibrating seat. She felt desperate – desperate for something as she spread her legs and ground against the plush velveteen….

The train whistle shrieked. Rose woke up with one hand clutching her blouse and the other one clenched in her skirt. She was flushed and frustrated. The man was watching her.

Rose met his eyes and slowly she spread her legs, natural as a foregone conclusion.

The man got up and knelt between them.

Rose lifted her skirt so he could unhook her garters and pull down her under-things. He stopped to look at her, but Rose didn’t want to wait. She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him close until his mouth grazed her hot, wet skin.

She hissed. The man chuckled and kissed her cunt. Then he began to lick. Rose’s breathing grew ragged, and so did his, as he lapped at her like a cat. Stroke…stroke…. Rose spread her legs as she could and ground down on his face, but she couldn’t get enough. Her hips jerked in frustration. She knew she needed more.

Rose drew the man up and began to undo his belt. His fingers joined hers as he unbuttoned his pants and shoved them down. He paused, but Rose didn’t stop. She just turned around and knelt on the seat. Then she looked over her shoulder and raised her skirt.

Rose poured months of frustration into that look. She was wet and swollen, ready in the way that she’d always been. She’d always this – to be thoroughly, and unsentimentally, fucked.


The man grinned.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t sweet talk or kiss her. He just slid his cock in and slowly began to thrust. Rose’s body went loose as the pressure built, warm and slick, between her legs. She looked at herself in the window, at her wide, open mouth and wide, open legs and the man fucking her like a whore. She looked like a filthy whore. Rose imagined her mother sobbing. Filthy. Dirty. Whore.

Rose smiled, it felt so goddamn good.

The man kept thrusting as he reached around. His fingers found her clit. Rose gasped and bit her arm, but she couldn’t hold back the moans that were wrenching out of her. They pushed at her skin and pulled at her nerves until she thought they’d split her in two. And then, for the very first time in her life, Rose came.

“Grand Central Station. Next stop, Grand Central Station, New York.”

The man froze, as the conductor passed. Then he thrust into her, harder and rougher, as Rose arched her back.

“Come on me. Come.”

The train began to slow. Suddenly, Rose felt him withdraw and he groaned as sticky, hot cum spattered over her skin.

Rose looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright as Christmas and his were too. The man took out a handkerchief and quickly wiped her clean. Then Rose got down and brushed off her clothes while the man straightened out his suit. Then they sat down on opposite sides again. Anyone looking in would’ve assumed they’d never moved, except that now their knees touched.

Rose picked up her hat. It was dry and almost good as new. She placed it on her head and fluffed her hair. Outside, the train ground to a halt. Rose got up. The man put on his fedora, then he stood and tipped his brim.

“It was nice to meet you, miss.”

“It was nice to meet you too.”

Rose pulled open the compartment. The man stepped forward and held the door for her.

“Say, do you think I might see you again?”

Rose’s mouth curved into a starlet’s smile. He sure was handsome, all right.

“You just might,” she said.

Rose pulled a train schedule out of her purse. Then she took her lipstick out and circled her return date before handing it to him.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Then Rose picked up her suitcase and sauntered off the train.


  1. Yeah… so… whenever I dredge up my old stories, I’m embarrassed by them. Yours is great. I once shared a train cabin with a girl while in Europe. We were both young and single. Yeah, this is what I was fantasizing, but I don’t think my fantasy was nearly as well-written.

    On a more serious note, I get it. Funny thing is, I was thinking of a story like this earlier today (similar theme), but from the man’s perspective.

    1. Oh! I hope you write it! To say that I’d love to read it is a huge understatement. As for old stories, I’ve got files full of things that make me cringe. The fact that this could stand the polishing was a happy surprise 🙂

  2. Love this. “Thoroughly, and unsentimentally”….those words described her feelings perfectly and set the tone for the rest of the story. I found myself in his place, imagining what he might do next and could almost feel the passion. Sometimes raw unsentimental attraction and physical attachment is what we need. Wow. You have a great talent for spinning a tale. Thank you (again).

  3. Just read it again because it’s that good. I always like it when readers point out my typos. This one is at the end:

    “Then she took her lipstick out a lipstick and… ” 🙂

  4. I bloody love train erotica. Actually I just love trains and I love train journeys. Some of the first erotica I read online years ago was by a bloke called Roger Dirtyboy or something (he doesn’t write anymore) but I revisited the train series *a lot* and still do sometimes.

    I have also never had sex on a train, but two different men have coached me to orgasm on trains via texts and photos. There is a very unglamorous station on my journey home to Wales which I can’t pull into anymore without thinking about a tremendous orgasm I had as my train ground to a halt there a couple of summers ago! I’m travelling home tomorrow…Mmm…

    1. I love train erotica too. In my case, I think it may be because I’ve never been on a proper train – train travel isn’t as common in the States. I know that, over the years, I’ve developed a definite fantasy about them. I love that you can come on trains from texts and photos. *That* is a skill worth acquiring! Xx

    1. Will, I just gushed over at The Erotic Writer, but I can’t get over how perfect your half is. Funny, as soon as I read it, I stopped thinking of mine as an independent piece. They really do feel like natural halves of one whole. Thank you for this. You hit a deep chord.

  5. I enjoyed your erotic story… it made me hard… mission accomplished. Hopper’s painting was prefect for this story and you evoked that era in your writing. Well done, Ms James.

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