RIDING ON THE CITY OF NEW ORLEANS

The weather in early spring in Southern Illinois was enough to make a young woman twitchy. Worms were shooting out of the wet ground everywhere. My underpants were wet all the time too. It didn't matter what male was teaching my English lit classes--something in the air made me hot for him. Which wasn't a good thing, because I would never act on it. I was totally in love with my long-time steady George, an earnest but soulful psychologist who was down in Fort Lauderdale trying to scour up some work of some type in the field of alcoholism. You would think he wouldn't have to look too hard down there, but it wasn't as easy as all that.

I missed him a lot when the weather made me twitchy. I wondered if it were the weather equivalent of what certain California winds coming out of the desert did to people--make them crazy and hot and all.

I couldn't concentrate on even horny old Shakespeare, and who better to read at a time like that. I was real, real gone. I would sit at a desk and immediately fall into a deep sexual fantasy about spending an entire day in bed with George, and what I would do to him first. Then I would move on to what he would do to me and I'd notice that I was actually drooling. I must have looked so stupid if anyone was looking at me. And a few guys, even English majors, had heat-seeking radar built in this time of year. They came to class wearing short, tight shorts and muscle shirts, and didn't they just always have to be adjusting themselves every time I peeked a glimpse at their muscular legs.

I was sweating and it wasn't from the room temperature. I tried to calm myself down by thinking about my bank balance and trying to decide if I could afford to pop on down to Fort Lauderdale for a weekend of pleasure. It was doubtful, but maybe...

Why oh why couldn't there have been some work for him here. God knows this school alone should have had more than enough alcoholics, not to mention dope fiends, to keep him so busy that I'd have to fight for his attention.

I was still sitting there fantasizing when it started to register that everyone was leaving except me. I wondered what we had discussed for the last 50 minutes. I wondered if I should even bother trying to get somebody's notes I probably wouldn't be able to concentrate on either. But what the hell. I did try to be an A student, believe it or not. I looked around to see who hadn't left yet and noticed that my cup runneth over. The cock of the walk, Kevin Gee, was still there modeling his physique for the women coming into the classroom for the next class.

"Hey, Kevin" I wondered if I'd even get his attention. I was dressed in a retro boho print dress and it didn't exactly cling to my figure. He turned his head lazily towards my voice. "Ah, Jeanine, what can I do you for?"

"Did you take good notes today? Can I borrow them? I'll copy them now and give them back to you after dinner. How's that?"

"Wait a minute. Just a sec." He rubbed his dorky little beard with his whole hand. "What do I get for this noble deed?"

"What do you want?" I said without thinking.

"Well, for starters, a night of unbridled passion would do," the snot replied.

I just hoped my face wouldn't give me away. That didn't sound half bad. "Yeah, sure, Kev. I'll bring my sister and my best girlfriend too, how's that?"

"Dyno-mite, Jen. I knew we could do some biz."

This guy was about to make me wish I could take a shower and now.

"Kevin, would you settle for a hand job? They're just notes. What did we talk about today anyhow?"

"Oh, very important stuff that will be on the mid-term. Henry Miller and his obsession for June Miller's pussy. I can't believe you missed it. It was enthralling."

"Sure, like Mr. P. got into some passion today. Give me a break. More likely he talked about symbolism in Spencer."

"Well, if you know it all what do you need with my notes?"

"I just like to keep up my A average and keep the scholarships coming in, something you wouldn't know anything about Kevin, since you spend all your time balling and drinking."

"And getting paid by the State and my parents to do it too. Not a bad way to go."

"Okay, just give me the notes. I've about sick of this conversation, Kevin, although I will say you're looking very sexy today. But then a lot of men are looking very sexy to me since I haven't seen my honey in over two months and I'm going nuts."

"Two months? Whew! That's cruel and unusual. What can I do for you? Just name it I'm here to service you."

"Gee, thanks so much, but I'd rather wait a few more months. True love and all that. Just give me the notes and we'll call it a day."

I believe we'd still be standing there shooting the shit, but just then a little lost freshman size double DD with cleavage showing wandered in looking lost and in need of Kevin's help. I could have kissed her. He almost immediately forgot I was still there.

"Okay, Jeanine, here's those notes. Drop them off after dinner then, will you."

"Sure thing. Thanks a lot."

***

I wondered how desperate I was getting. I didn't usually admit to other guys how incredibly, desperately hot and horny I was and how long it had been since I'd had any. Something had to give and give soon.

I walked slowly back to my apartment, trying this time to pay attention to what I was doing and where I was going. George had left a message on my machine to call him. Just the man I was dying to talk to. Maybe we could have phone sex.

But he had big news. "Jeanine, honey, how's my horny honey? Are those underpants nice and wet? Are you keeping it clean and sweet for me? I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise. I need a good surprise. Tell me you're coming to Carbondale to fuck me tonight."

"Almost. I'm meeting you in New Orleans in two days and we are going to shake down the town."

"New Orleans?" I was stunned at how much the thought of that party city turned me on. The very notion of going someplace spontaneously--was enough to almost make me come then and there. "Let the good times roll, George. Let the good times roll."

We discussed all the meet-ups and ticket stuff and I was even happier to learn that we were taking an old-fashioned train ride on the City of New Orleans herself from Carbondale all the way to the Crescent City. I was so ecstatic I didn't even care that Mardi Gras had been over for about two weeks. I didn't like crowds anyhow.

I hung up telling him that I absolutely could not wait until Friday.

****

Friday morning I put on my best vintage dress that came down to my ankles but was cut down to there, and threw on a sexy tall pair of boots to go with it. Feeling whimsical, I also added a very stylish romantic looking country-girl hat with ribbons hanging off of it. I drank some coffee, decided I was too much in overdrive to eat, and headed for the train station to meet George.

And there he was looking sharper than a rock star on stage and just as sexy as his own self. He wore my favorite multi-colored silky shirt with tight jeans and a country-looking suede vest. He had his guitar wrapped around his shoulder I was glad to see. He played well, he sang well, and he never was a boor about it.

I pushed my body hard into his when we kissed. I felt dizzy and thought I saw stars I was so pumped up and hungry for him. Why oh why didn't we meet at my place I wondered now.

He read my mind. "We didn't meet at your place because I just got in from the airport this minute and the train leaves in ten minutes. That's pretty tight. But tonight we'll have plenty of time and we'll be in the Big Easy."

We boarded the train with a minimum of luggage--less to worry about keeping track of. I noticed we both had brought books for the train. We were crazy for each other, but, hey, we were die-hard readers too.

After a little bit of getting comfortable on the train and with each other again, George pulled out his guitar and sang me one of my favorite's, Bob Dylan's "Lay Lady Lay." He sang it sweetly, softly and just for me. Then he surprised me with a beautiful version of Steve Goodman's "The City of New Orleans". It was so perfect having him there singing that song on The City of New Orleans herself I wanted to cry. "...Good morning America how are you? Don't you know me I'm your native son, I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans, I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done."

I just had to kiss him a while for that gift of that song and his lullaby heart-wrenching playing and singing of it. I knew this was going to be one special weekend.

*****

When we got to New Orleans we headed to a bar for a drink and some music. Just our good luck we found one with a Jimi Hendrix-quality dude who was playing some lush electric jazz all by himself. It transfixed us and we ended us staying longer than we had planned, swilling down those Irish coffees like they were only coffee.

Then we went in search of a hotel. George knew a little something about the city. This was all before Katrina. He suggested that the Garden District might be picturesque and so we headed there on the Magazine Street Trolley. I woke up on the Trolley to find that my head was on some dude's shoulder. We hadn't been able to get two seats together. The man didn't seem too upset, but I was sort of embarrassed all the same.

We found our way to the very film noir looking Duchess Hotel and it set its spell on us. It was then that we re-found our intensity, and the shoes and clothes flew off every which way. We were so very hungry for each other we were in total pain.

Soon I was moaning and he was groaning. I couldn't be bothered with what other tenants might be thinking. There was no stopping now. We made love all night, stopping to take breaks to eat, play guitar and go for short walks in the moonlight.

I knew I wouldn't feel twitchy for a long time. I felt like I had gone to paradise and was living among the angels. Everything was quiet, smooth and loving. I was one fulfilled woman and I know he was one fulfilled man. Ah love!