The movement of the train threw us together again and our bodies seemed alive with energy.
“But how?” I said, astonished that 30 had a key to the very thing that stood between us.
“Later,” she said reaching down and unlocking the device between her legs. It’s components clattered to the floor.
“I only have the key for mine,” she said.
I felt a moment of disappointment but not before 30’s hand came up to my chest, pushed me down on the seat behind me and pressed against me.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re going to love it anyway!”
With that 30 took my ankles and pushed them up beside my head, pinning me with her hard body. She then spat on her hand and pushed it between my legs, then pressed herself insistently against me.
Feeling the powerlessness of my position I relished this invasion.
I groaned in acceptance as she forced herself into me, my own body yielding feverishly. In some extraordinary way this forceful use of my body was entirely different from the activities with those sexual partners imposed on me through Devina’s efforts. I found myself moaning in sincere gratitude for the invasion I felt so very deeply. My choice to willingly give myself to 30 was a voluntary submission, which I soon understood had a powerful backstory which gave it some sort of context.
The pleasure that was sweeping through me was not merely physical. This was something deeply psychological. My choice to be submissive to my lover’s superior strength was an act of deeply intimate affection and trust.
“I give myself willingly to you,” I gasped as 30 quickened her pace, thrusting deeper and harder with each gyration of her magnificent body. At some level there was the frenetic desperation of our passion, yet at another the gentle movement of the train soothed me, and the relentless insistence of 30’s body within me instilled me with a calm sense of fulfillment. By the time she cried out in her moment of completion I found myself content for the first time in months.
After 30 had used me, for that was what this was, I melted against her grateful for the touch of her body as she slumped, exhausted beside me on the seat. My feelings were of warm belonging, and a gentle acceptance. 30, still wrapping me in her embrace dozed for a while.
I lay there treasuring this feeling. It was unlike any lovemaking I had experienced when my attentions had been with a woman. This was something else completely. I had not come, and yet I was entirely satisfied. Just knowing that 30 had found her pleasure within me filled me with a sense of value. Yet what we had done was not so very different to so many previous experiences. Only this time, I felt connected in a way I’d not sensed before.
Now I felt treasured. I felt owned. And I liked it.
As America passed by in the window of the carriage I watched, my eyes fixed on the horizon. Only when I noticed our reflection did I stop and gasp in surprise. I was staring at these two creatures, entwined still and reflected in the glass. I looked so fragile. So small in 30’s arms. Yet we were sensually wrapped together. And I was the subject of this powerful erotic pastiche.
I closed my eyes and revelled in the slowly moving breath of the person beside me. This could be heaven.
I don’t remember much of the rail journey. Just signs really, and highways in the distance. America really is a big place. Springfield, St. John’s, Walnut Ridge.
Places that seemed like islands in a sea of suburbia and strip malls, viewed from a railroad.
We passed through Jacksonville and Texarkana and then the bustling glass city of Dallas. I had traveled from the Mississippi to the desert, and America rolled by punctuated by the rhythm of the railroad.
And on that journey, barely troubled by any other passengers I learned that 30 was really Annabel, a name she’d taken from a lover, and that she grew up mostly in the south. She’d been with Mrs. Graveley for a little over a year. We talked in the restaurant car, slept fitfully from time to time, and held one another unselfconsciously in the deserted carriage.
“She knows how to look after us,” Annabel said, a little cryptically.
She told me how she’d struggled with her own gender identity, and experienced the same guilty explorations as myself. She told me of the rejection she experienced from a family at once thought close, but unable to accept the emergence of the true nature of the imposter in their midst. Of the hidden clothes, thoughts and desires. And then of her acceptance of who she really was.
“And how did you come to meet Mrs. Gravely?” I asked.
“It was all rather accidental. I was at a club one night and I fell into conversation with someone I’d not met before. They told me that there were ways to help my transition along. People who could help and ways to prepare myself. Even people who would provide work.”
Annabel told me how she’d been given a card, and that she’d mislaid it for a while, but when she did eventually find it and get around to calling the number she was asked if she’d like to attend an interview. They even sent her the fare to attend. She’d been reluctant at first, but there are few job opportunities for people who are awkward and ‘genderless’, as she put it. Eventually she succumbed and took up the offer.
By the time she arrived at the farm she was about ready to do anything it would take to help herself move forward. As it happened, with her equestrian skills and farming background, she knew she could make this relationship work. As such she’d become one of Mrs. Graveley’s favorites.
It was to that good fortune that I could credit the fact that Annabel and I were afforded this opportunity.
“Mrs. Gravely applies what you might think of as a carrot and stick approach. Do well by her, and you get the carrot,” she said.
“I like the carrot,” I replied.
“Take advantage of her and you can expect the stick,” she concluded.
“But what is it that we’re expected to do,” I asked.
At this Annabel was a little more restrained.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not my first rodeo. I’ll show you.”
In Dallas we exited the train and hired a car, following Mrs. Graveley’s written instructions. We continued on our journey westwards, stopping only to buy a change of clothes to add to our meagre belongings. We drank coke, flicked between country music stations and then some 70 miles beyond Fort Worth Annabel drew the car to a halt. She looked at the GPS and compared it to the notes she’d been consulting.
“This must be it,” said Annabel.
“This must be what?” I asked, looking skeptically around the dry countryside that surrounded us.
“The asshole of America,” said Annabel, checking the time on the display. “We’re a little ahead of schedule.”
I glanced about. The road was unfenced and there seemed no indication that this could possibly be a meeting point. Yet, here we were. In the blistering heat, and so we waited.
“Did she say who would come?” I asked.
As if in answer We heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching from across the grassland. A few minutes later a trail bike stopped beside us, and knocked on the window.
“Yes?” said Annabel.
“You’re to follow me,” came the reply from behind a black visor, and the bike pulled away into the empty looking void of landscape.
“Chatty sort of fellow,” I said to Annabel, and she smiled.
“Let’s just follow him and see what comes up,” she replied.
We did so and after some ten minutes we crested a slight rise, which revealed a ranch about a mile beyond. It was a modern looking house, with several garages, and some neatly laid out white fences. We were clearly being brought in through the tradesman’s entrance.
The hire car bumped and bounced down the meagre hill and eventually we drew to a halt beside a large barn where our escort waited. He talked briefly into a radio and then walked back to our vehicle and opened the driver’s door for Annabel.
“Please, follow me ladies,” said the young man. For all his unconventional approach to bringing us here, at least he was polite about it.
We followed him toward the front of the house. It was a sprawling mansion when viewed from this side. Three men stood on the porch, and as we walked up to meet them their broad smiles and open expressions welcomed us in much the same way as one might feel had three wolves invited you to join them for dinner.
I put on my game face and followed Annabel’s lead.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, taking the proffered hand of one of our hosts, “we’d be very grateful if we could take a little while to freshen up. We’ve come a long way.”
“But if course,” replied the eldest of the group. “You are free to do as you wish. We are having a little gathering this evening at around eight. If you’d like to rest, or shower, or make use of our swimming pool until then, you are of course welcome. Leave your bags here and Manuel will bring them to your rooms in a few minutes.”
Our hosts placed glasses of cool lemonade into our hands and continued to politely welcome us and ask as about our journey. After a little it was time to go and freshen up so we both made our excuses, and as I followed Manuel toward my accommodations I quietly said to Annabel, “this should be entertaining.”
Annabel looked at me and replied, “No kidding. We’re the entertainment.”