Message-ID: <21948asstr$945904201@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <19991222173025.59491.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "Vickie Morgan" Cc: "missbehavin" Subject: {ASSM} [1/4] Goodbye Columbus (Fantasy Train Story) MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300 Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 18:10:01 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman, gill-bates WARNING: This story includes sexually explicit material. I would like to thank the proof-readers for all their help Any comments, including constructive criticisms, would be most appreciated. Please send to artemis55@hotmail.com This work is copyrighted by the author. You may download and keep one copy for your personal use as long as my by-line and e-mail address and this paragraph remain on the copy. Any posting or reposting on a website, other than the archive or Dejanews, or to a newsgroup requires my permission first (but I'll probably say yes). This story should not, under any circumstances be used to make a profit by anyone other than the author. ====================================================================== This story probably won't make a good deal of sense if you haven't heard of the Fantasy Train, or read the introduction. It also helps if you have ever visited the ASSD newsgroup. To find out more about the Fantasy Train, go to: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MariaGonzales/www/fantasy/passengers.html where you will find not only the introduction but also some very good stories. ====================================================================== There's a lot of references in this story to things that you might not understand if you don't happen to live on the same small island I do. So to be helpful, here's an explanation of some of them. If there's still something you don't understand, just ask *S*. Darlington: A town in the north-east of England, and claims to be the birthplace of the railway. GNER: Great North Eastern Railways. A railway company that mainly operates in the north-east of England. Virgin: Another company that has trains operating in the north-east, as well as other parts of the country. They have the worst record for being late or not turning up at all. Vivienne Westwood: A British designer, who seems to come up with more and more bizarre clothes each year. Red Dwarf: Long running sci-fi comedy series made by the BBC. Kryten is one of the characters. Big Breakfast: A programme on Channel 4, that's usually on every weekday morning from 7 - 9. VPL: Visible Panty Line ========================================================= Goodbye Columbus (A Fantasy Train Story) Part 1 by Vickie Morgan I should have known better than to get onboard Shon's train in the first place; then I would never have got myself in such a mess. In fact, I did know better. My first instinct was to say 'thanks, but no thanks'. Believe it or not, I'm actually quite shy. At parties I spend most of my time talking to the granny in the kitchen, until my friends find me and drag me out to be sociable. But Shon had to dangle the lure of time travel in front of me. How could I resist that? To go back in time and actually see how things really were, instead of trying to piece it together from tarnished scraps of parchment. To watch them building a pyramid and see how they did it; to walk through Rome when it was freshly built and full of life; to taste the food in a medieval castle. It was one of those once in a lifetime opportunities. After all, how often does anyone you know catch a leprechaun, let alone one with a magic time-travelling train available? The timing was perfect too. I actually had two weeks off from work, while my husband was still away travelling so he wouldn't object to my absence. I would have preferred him to accompany me, but that was impossible. By the time Shon's train made it to my part of the world, it was already packed and I was one of the last stops. I wasn't feeling at my best, which wasn't really surprising, as I had stayed up all the previous night finishing off the paperwork I had originally intended to do during my spare fortnight. Paperwork always makes me cranky; there's something about a column of figures that refuses to amount to the same total twice in a row that just riles me. I was falling asleep on my feet as I waited for the Fantasy Train to arrive, and only the customary howling draught whistling around Darlington station kept me semi-conscious. At least I didn't have to worry about a train full of ASS regulars being one of the notoriously late Virgin trains. Just when I was about to start snoring, there was a whoosh and the train arrived. Either GNER had employed Vivienne Westwood to design their latest rolling stock or this was my ride. A door slid open and a man popped his head out. "Vickie Morgan?" he asked cheerfully as I stepped forward. "All aboard then." The door had scarcely swished closed behind me before the train was in motion. The man's nametag identified him as Shon himself. "Nice to meet you in the flesh at last," I said politely. He gave me a big grin. "Nice of you to join us," he replied, nudging his glasses back up his nose. "Come this way. You're in cabin 205. You're the last pick-up, so now we're heading back in time, as soon as someone decides when they want to go to. Any idea when you want to go yet?" "Not yet," I admitted."Back to Dallas to stand on the grassy knoll and yell 'duck'?" I suggested flippantly. Shon gave me a bewildered look, and I mentally kicked myself. I thought he was bound to recognise the quote from Red Dwarf, as I knew he was a fan. But I should have remembered that Kryten had his good taste chip bypassed when he said that. The last thing I wanted to do was offend my American friends by making frivolous remarks about their major historical figures. Several parties were in full swing and I saw some bizarre sights as I followed Shon. It certainly was a unique train. One section looked like a perfect replica of the Orient Express, then the next carriage was so high-tech it wouldn't have looked out of place on the Enterprise. We were passing through a section that reminded me of the observation carriage described in Dick Francis' 'The Edge', apart from the lively mud fight occupying the centre of it, when someone called out to Shon. "What do you use to tie Bondage Barbie's legs to the bed with? I seem to have lost the handcuffs." "Lost the handcuffs?" Shon echoed, turning pale. "Oh no, I knew I shouldn't have brought my Barbies with me. Do you mind finding your own way down, Vee, and I'll catch up with you later." "No problem," I said, trying not to giggle at the sight of grown men playing with dolls. "Hope you find your handcuffs." He looked momentarily puzzled, as if he hadn't understood me, then disappeared into the huddle of men waiting for him. I found my cabin in a part of the train that resembled the old fashioned coaches seen in classic Hitchcock films. I had a generous bunk, already made up, and a bench and narrow table. There was also a small en-suite bathroom. I couldn't help wondering exactly how the toilet worked. There weren't any signs instructing me not to use the toilet while the train was stationary. There could be a big reservoir somewhere to store all the sewage but that didn't seem too practical. But the alternative, that it was being dumped irresponsibly throughout history, didn't seem very clever. All our modern day germs and bacteria being introduced to ancient digestive tracts would be a disaster. I know most people probably don't think about this kind of thing, but I'm afraid that's the way my mind works. I hadn't really known what to pack for a trip through history, so I had stuck to the essentials, which didn't take long to unpack. An information pack was waiting for me, including my nametag. I stuck it on, then headed towards the nearest kitchen. Hopefully, a good strong cup of tea would have me feeling more alive. According to the diagram in my room, there should be a self-service kitchen at the front end of the high tech carriage. But before I reached it I bumped into a group of men heading the opposite way. "Hello sweetie," one of them said with a friendly grin. They had obviously been drinking and had reached the happy stage. They focused on my nametag. "Hey, Vickie Morgan. I've read your stories." They looked at me in surprise. "But Vickie Morgan's a man." "Er, no," I said apologetically. Another man joined the traffic jam we were creating in the corridor. "Vickie Morgan," he observed. "Aren't you that British writer? I've always wondered, does the 'stiff upper lip' you Brits have make any difference when you're giving blow-jobs? I'd be happy to help you run some comparison tests" "And I've always wondered why you named yourself after part of a beer can?" I replied, smiling at Wijit. He looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked. "I didn't quite understand you." "Doesn't matter, wasn't anything important," I told him. "I thought you were English." "I am," I said indignantly. "But you don't sound English. I can hardly understand you." "What were you expecting me to sound like?" I asked. "Hardly anyone in the UK talks like the Queen, or Kate Winslet for that matter. I come from Yorkshire, so I don't talk like a bloody southerner, I have a Yorkshire accent." Judging by the bewildered looks on their faces I might as well have saved my breath. "I'm going to get a drink," I said as clearly as I could, squeezing past them. I found my way to the kitchen, which turned out to be an eclectic mixture of shiny metal machines and long wooden tables. Closer examination of one of the machines revealed that all I had to do was type in what I wanted and push the button. Accordingly, I punched in 'tea'. A couple of menus flashed up at me but I impatiently hit 'enter' a couple of times until there was a ping and the door opened. But instead of a nice hot brew, there was a glass containing ice cubes, some pale brown liquid and a couple of sprigs of mint. Disgruntled, I slammed the door shut and decided to read the menus this time. To be on the safe side, this time I decided to request coffee. A long menu appeared and I started to read the list: 'Latte, double latte, flat white, double mocha ...' the list seemed endless and none of it made any sense. I hit cancel, and contemplated the annoying contraption. Maybe something simple would be a better idea. But typing in 'water' just gave me another list of gibberish. Trying not to grind my teeth in frustration, I looked around to see if anyone else was having difficulties. Seated at one of the tables was a noisy group engaged in an animated discussion about the finer points of grammar and punctuation. I didn't need to see his nametag to identify the short, brown gentleman vehemently arguing the case for two spaces after a full stop, while at the same time surreptitiously laving a pile of condoms with baby oil, as Homer. I didn't recognise any of the rest, except a tall, blonde woman waving a well-thumbed copy of Fowler who had to be Janey. She must have spotted my difficulty with the drinks dispenser and got up to give me a hand. "Vickie!" she exclaimed when she saw my nametag. "I didn't know you were on board. Isn't this fun?" "I was hoping I'd run into you," I said, trying to control the big grin spreading over my face. "Don't I owe you an e-mail?" "Don't worry about it," she replied. "I know how hard it is to find a bit of spare time." "Can you give me a hand with this stupid machine, Janey? All I want is a hot drink, but it doesn't seem to understand plain English." Janey took a careful look at the offending mechanism, then backed off and gave it a good kick. "There! I'll bet the fucker works now! What you want?" "Hot chocolate," I suggested. Janey punched in some instructions. "Sugar? Marshmallows? Whipped cream?" she inquired. "Just plain," I asked hopefully. Janey attacked the keypad again, gave the enter button a good thump, and moments later handed me a mug. "You just have to show those things who's boss," she said, scowling at the machine. "Thanks a million," I said gratefully, taking a cautious sip. "You're welcome," she began, then trailed off as her gaze focused over my shoulder. "Linebackers," Janey murmured. "What are line backers?" I asked. "Those gorgeous athletes are. Oh, no, that's not fair," she sighed. I looked round to see what had attracted her attention, but all I could see was a couple of young lads in some kind of sports uniform and shoulder pads that wouldn't have looked out of place in an episode of 'Dynasty'. They were each holding a ripe peach, and when they saw that they had Janey's attention they took big, juicy bites. "Um, excuse me a minute, Vickie," Janey said distractedly. "I just have to teach them to eat peaches properly. I'll catch up with you later, OK." "No problem," I told her, amused and bemused at the same time. Clutching my hard won drink, I took another look around. While I recognised a few names, not many would recognise me. I didn't have the time to do more than occasionally read through ASSD, so I wasn't a well-known, regular poster. The ASS people I knew best were either not on board or had succumbed to more pressing distractions, and I didn't really feel like introducing myself to a group of strangers. Especially considering the difficulties I was having making myself understood. So I set out to explore instead. Copyright Vickie Morgan, 1999 E-mail artemis55@hotmail.com This story is distributed free of charge for your entertainment. It does take quite a lot of time and effort to write, type, edit and post a story, especially a long one like this. All I ask is that you take a couple of minutes to e-mail me, let me know that you've read this and perhaps give some reaction. Thank you. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +- alt.sex.stories.moderated --- send stories to: -+ | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+