StrandedSubmitted by monkeyswithguns at 2008-04-03 15:24:55 EDT
Rating: 1.9 on 13 ratings (13 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
We departed from Lisbon on our way to Coimbra on a warm Friday afternoon. I slept while the missus looked at pictures in some cheap Spanish porn magazine criticizing the crow’s eyes in the supposed “teen” models. The countryside flew by, and within 3 hours we had arrived at the outskirts of the city, at a platform titled Coimbra-B.
We bought the tickets to the center of the city, famed for having the oldest University in Portugal, and some Roman ruins nearby, which I planned on visiting to practice the traditions of my Vandal ancestors.
I lugged our luggage to the platform, and when the train pulled in, I hopped on, sat our bags down, and fell into a pile on the seat. The train started moving.
The train rode on to the next station, and the station after, and eventually a short, plump, old man hobbled along to the back of the train where we were sitting. This old man was checking for tickets, looking for stowaways to throw off the rear so that he could feel strong as in the days of his youth. He never actually told me this, or maybe he did, but I don’t speak Portuguese, so I’m just naturally assuming here.
When the man got to us, he made it clear to us that we were not meant to be headed where we were going. We were headed away from Coimbra, and must get off at the next train station.
The next train back to Coimbra would be stopping here in 3 hours.
It wasn’t a bad area. We were out in the country, in the fresh air, at what once was a very nice train station. It just hadn’t been used regularly for 50 years. The façade was tile covered, which wasn’t surprising since everything in Portugal is covered in tile-work.
Over the benches were arbors supporting wisteria and rose vines, which led to a set of tiled bathrooms which had been recently lived in by a family of gypsies.
Behind the bathrooms the fence separated the train station proper from a house where an old woman hung her clothes out to dry while screaming at the sheep, or me, I’m not exactly sure who. Beyond that, a bridge spanned a valley full of cottages that stretched up the hillside.
At the opposite end of the platform was an area that had at one time been used to switch trains, but was long ago abandoned to it’s fate as an empty field, with a solitary orange tree.
We had 3 hours to spare before the next train would arrive, so first things first, I plundered the orange tree, collecting a full bag that would last us into the next week. I learned 2 interesting things here:
1) Free oranges are much better than store-bought oranges.
2) Orange trees have very sharp spines.
An hour passed while we feasted on oranges on an abandoned train platform in the middle of nowhere. My bowels began to grumble at me, and while I’m not picky, I certainly wasn’t going to use the gypsies home to relieve myself. They might place a curse on my anus, and I certainly don’t want that on my conscience. Far better to desecrate the pathway leading up the hill from the village!
A problem presented itself to me though. We had no toilet paper, and the gypsy family had been using the restroom’s supply as dinner napkins, so I was forced to get natural. Luckily this area had a thriving supply of Easter Lilies, in full bloom, almost everywhere. It didn’t take me long to make use of the large, fleshy leaves of this plant, and I tell you now, I’ve become reluctant to wipe with anything else.
I briefly considered kicking some dirt on it, to kill the smell, but thought that it might be more considerate if I didn’t hide it, leaving a landmine waiting to ruin someone’s day. Better they should smell it than step in it.
An hour to go, and the missus had finished one of my new wool socks. I finally had gotten bored with stealing citrus and annoying sheep, and realized how very alone in the countryside we were. The missus made an offer to show me some personal attention since we would soon be in a hostel in the city. We made our way into the abandoned station, my hands up her shirt, leading her to the wall, and things are getting very warm even though it’s raining outside.
We’re fooling around, and it’s dark inside here, and there’s nobody around except for the old woman next to the train station but she’s busy yelling at her sheep, and the missus is humping my knee, and I’m lifting up her skirt and burying my face between her tits and I’m thinking “Yeah I could really get into this whole exhibitionist thing!” and she’s smiling and I’m un-buckling my belt and then……
“BlAHBAH SHEBRALHA BHEROVEN SHIBLAHBLAH!!!!”
We stood frozen in each other’s arms.
There was a loudspeaker located somewhere in this station, and apparently there was also a video camera.
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