Missed Connections: New Orleans

We spent hours recovering and fucking when we both should have been sleeping. Before we knew it, his cock was deep in my previously virgin ass. Soon after we started, there was a knock at our door, a soft voice told us it was our call time for breakfast. We both laughed and opted to not finish that time as we were quite exhausted and sore anyway. Hell, we'd only started because I told him I'd never done it before and he got excited at the prospect of easing me into it, so he did.

I had cum in my hair and on most of my body, we were both sweaty and sticky. He unclipped a baseball cap from the side of his suitcase and put it on my head, covering the giant glob of sticky wetness in the front of my hair. We sat together at breakfast, the two men from across the hall sat with us, though this time, they were the uncomfortable ones.

They couldn't look at us. They were stone silent for the first time on this entire trip. I wondered if we'd kept them up as Evan's hand rubbed my inner thigh beneath the table while we waited for our food. We ate then hurried back to the shower while everyone else in our car was still at breakfast.

I don't recommend shower sex on a moving train, we ended up giving up before we even got started and simply washed one another instead. He was gentle as he washed my hair and I savored it; no one had ever done that for me before. I hated that we would part ways shortly, but I wasn't in a place to get attached to a random fuck, no matter how good he was.

We got back to our room and changed into clean clothes and cleaned up the mess we'd made, somewhere along the way the panties he pulled off of me that night went missing. I'm not sure if he took them or not, but he claimed he hadn't seen them since he threw them on the floor. There was a gap beneath the door, so maybe some opportunist heard us and snatched them after they saw them through the gap. Or, they're still in the cabin, stuck beneath or behind something we didn't notice a gap in.

He took a photo of us in our refreshed little sleeper cabin, sitting on opposite sides of the long window, both staring longingly out into the city that was coming into view. The keen eye would notice his eyes angled towards me and a smile on his face while my foot stretched out in the open space on the floor, touching his. Subtle connections between strangers.

We didn't even exchange numbers. He told me that his name was Evan, whether true or not, I didn't know at the time. He thought my name was Lynn and I didn't see the need to correct him. He was an amazing, but completely impulsive, fuck. We had one night and that was that. Correcting him on my name would invite attachment for one of us and I didn't want it to be me.

It felt fortuitous that he'd misheard me.

A few years later, I saw the photo he'd taken of us at the end of our train ride advertised in an exhibit. I went to one of the exhibits while on a date. Brilliant, I know. But, I didn't know if he was going to be at the show or not.

I made my way to our photo and my date wandered off somewhere as I listened in on the conversations people were having over the image. Comments of sexual tension and longing echoed among the crowd. One person suggested this was a post-fuck image. The others shut her down with, "No, there wouldn't still be this much tension between them if this was the after!" I couldn't help but smile.

In the photo, Evan's hand rested on his inner thigh. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was biting my lip as I looked out the window, my finger twirled a bit of my long brown hair. The way he took the photo, my bitten lip was only visible in the reflection of the glass. He made me an alluring mystery to his fans.

I bit my lip as I moved into the crowd of observers and looked at the information card:

Missed Connections: New Orleans.

Models- "Lynn" and Evan Williams.

Photographer- Evan Williams.

Mesmerized by the composition and blushing at the memory, I took in Evan's face and body language. Then I got a chill down my spine as the feeling of being under the watchful gaze of someone nearby settled over me. Someone was behind me, close, and I felt the air change as they leaned down.

I bit my lip as the flutter of butterflies in my stomach brought back that heady lust from the night before he took this photo, as a familiar deep voice whispered in my ear, "This was the only one I was willing to share."

I smiled, a shiver ran down my spine and I turned towards him. He looked the same, "Can I kiss you?" I asked.

"Still with the boldness?" he asked more than said.

I pressed my lips to his and he welcomed them by pulling me tighter to him with his hands on my hip and the back of my neck. Some of his guests noticed and did a double-take from me to the girl in the photo as he pulled back from my kiss and held me there. His eyes scanned my face, "What's your name?" he asked me, an obvious longing in both his expression and his voice.

"Valen," I said.

"Why tell me it was Lynn?"

"I never told you it was Lynn. I just didn't correct you when you misheard me."

He kissed me again before I noticed my date approaching us. He tried to push Evan away from me, which Evan resisted. Then my bull-headed date punched him, knocking the photographer down on his ass before I could get between them.

My date became flustered as I knelt down to help Evan.

"Un-fucking-believable," my date snapped as he watched me tend to the developing bruise on Evan's left cheekbone. My date got escorted out by security as he muttered some choice expletives directed at me. I was, apparently, both a prude and a slut in the same breath for him.

The person running the exhibit was not amused when she saw me holding a towel with ice from the caterers to Evan's cheek and laughing with him as I tried to maintain a look of concern over the bruise on his cheek.

She approached us and cleared her throat, arms crossed over her chest, and a deadly scowl on her lips.

Evan looked over to her and smiled, "Meet Lynn," he said, as though that should explain everything about the image this woman was seeing before her.

I looked at her and it was striking how similar they looked. The same dark wavy hair, though hers was shorter than his and styled in a beautiful pixie cut. Where he dressed barely above casual she was in a sharply tailored suit. She looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed, "The train fling?" She asked him.

He was staring at me and smiling as I doted on his cheek. He took the ice from me and turned to the woman, "Not a fling. A fling is what I had after her to try and ease the heartache when I realized I didn't know her real name."

"It was one night," she scoffed.

"You haven't seen the best photos from that night, little sister," he said.

I blushed and he turned his attention back to me, "Valen, this is my five-minutes younger twin sister Odette," he said. "She gets me into galleries and I'm supposed to not get punched by any cross lovers that come my way."

I stammered, "We... were on a second date. Not lovers, he was just cross that I kissed you when I had barely held his hand," I said.

"It's been what? Four years since that train ride?" he asked.

I nodded.

"You didn't take the job at the private school?"

I tilted my head, "And how do you know that?"

"There aren't that many private schools an hour's drive north of New Orleans," he said.

His sister looked at me and smirked, "He volunteered to photograph staff and students. Vol-un-teered! While I'm busting my ass trying to prove to people his work has extensive value. Five schools, hours with ungrateful little snot-nosed..."

I interrupted and turned my attention back to Evan, "My dad got sick, I ended up going back to Boston to teach public school so I could help my mom out," I said.

"There we have it, the truth finally comes out on why you were so insistent on getting galleries in Boston!" Odette snapped at him.

He shrugged, "I had to try, and look, it worked."

Odette was trying to remain a hard-ass but the slightest peek of a smile emerged on her lips, "Just in time for you to get punched before a press meeting," she said with a snarky lilt to her voice.

He grabbed my hand and tugged on me, "And now I can finally tell the press a story they'll want to hear," he replied.

He led me to a back room. Once we settled behind the scenes, he caressed my face and looked me over, "You still look exactly the same," he said.

"So do you," I said, a smile emerged on my lip as I added, "other than the bruise."

His lips were soft on mine as he kissed me again, "Can I tell them about you?" he asked as he pulled away from me.

"What is there to tell? I'm just a random conquest on a long train ride," I said.

His forehead crinkled and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me, "Do you know how often people ask me 'What happened to the girl on the train?' Or how much they want to hear I did know your name and I was playing it up for mystery?"

"You have dozens of photographs here that have that same feel to it, so why is that the one you're asked about?" I asked.

"Because it's the only one where I can't answer where the other person is. The others are all models from after I met you. I can say that I specifically took those photos for a series that started with a young woman that wasn't a model, a woman who's name I didn't even know," he said.

He took my hand and tugged on me, "Watch the interview from over here, where they can't see you, where I don't have to disclose your actual identity," he said.

I followed him. There was a window that looked down into a room in the main gallery. From where I stood, I could see the camera being set up and I could hear Odette talking to a woman, but I couldn't see either.

He stroked my cheek and kissed me again then pulled away, "Can I have your phone number, so you can't disappear on me again?" he asked as he held up his phone.

I programmed my number into it and, when I handed it back, he changed the name to 'Lynn' evoking a curious glance from me.

A smile lingered as he cocked his head to the side, "Random girls program their numbers into my phone all the time thanks to my sister marketing my appearance more than my art. Lynn is memorable to me, I may overlook Valen, and I'm not willing to let you vanish on me again."

He went out to do the interview and I watched him discuss the portrait that had garnered a lot of attention for him. He discussed what it meant to him and how it came to be. He glanced towards me a few times and blushed. She questioned him on whether the sexual tension in the photo was apparent to him in the moment. "Definitely," he said as he closed his eyes.

The reporter smirked and leaned to her right, "Did it seem like it was apparent to her as well?" she asked.

He chuckled and looked to the floor, "Without a doubt," he said.

"What was it about this girl that caught your attention?" the reporter asked.

"She didn't know me. She didn't know anything about me but still agreed to spend the next 30 hours in a cramped room on a train with me. I asked her if I could set up this camera between us to take shots of the countryside as we traveled. There was already very little space in there and she didn't even try to argue for it," he said as he smiled, seemingly lost in thought about those first few hours together.

The reporter tilted her head, "So, do you have more photos of this mystery girl?" she asked.

He nodded, "The photo everyone's seen of her, that was the last photo I took on that trip. The first was shortly after getting settled in the cabin. She was looking out the window and the room was hot, so hot and stuffy from the air not being on right away. She was uncomfortable with that first shot. After I took it, she looked towards me and she was nervous." His smile was infectious as his eyes focused on the window that hid me from the interviewer. "I reacted to her discomfort and made a ridiculous face at her. She laughed and I took another photo. I've never seen someone more beautiful than in that moment," he said as he seemed to look right at me, though I know he couldn't see me from that angle.

"Why show this one if you wanted to find her again? It sounds like you had others to choose from that may have better revealed her face. Photos that may have helped you find her sooner. Why not show those photos instead of this one?" she asked.

"Because I wanted to find her. I didn't want other people to find her for me. I wanted to find her. The photo I shared gave me the best shot at being able to find her while also keeping her out of the public eye if she didn't want to be in the public eye," he said.

"Are your fans ever going to get to see these other photos of her?" the reporter asked.

He shook his head and glanced towards where I was, "No amount of money would be worth forcing her to give up her privacy like that, so that's a firm: No."

The reporter pressed him on that, "Do you love this girl?" she asked him.

He looked to the ground and scrunched up his nose and eyebrows, "I don't know her well enough to make that determination yet. I didn't even know her real name until tonight. At the time I took the photo, it was infatuation and lust. Infatuation and lust are short-lived, supposedly. I kept coming back to her and wondering where she was, who she was, and, for the most part, if she was safe and happy."

He glanced back up towards the window I stood behind, "She's here, watching me do this interview. She seems happy. She seems safe. She came to the gallery on a date tonight, actually." He gestured to his cheek, "Hence the decorative bruise I'm sporting. My apologies for messing up her date, but connections like that are rare and I have no regrets about interacting with her tonight. I could have stayed back and observed her, saw that she was here with someone and went on knowing she was okay, but I couldn't do that," he said.

"What does this mean for your brand? The world knows you as the handsome eligible bachelor, people have been vying for you to do reality television to find a partner. To your fans, you're the party boy with links to various actresses and models, each left brokenhearted in your wake. What will it mean for you to settle down with someone?" She asked.

He laughed, "I'd have to say, first, you're jumping the gun a little, I haven't even asked her out yet. Second, I'm a person, not a brand. People grow and change. I'd hope anyone who considered themselves a fan of my work would find me being happy, in whatever way that came about, a great thing. Third, I've not dated anyone in well over five years, so any broken hearts were not my doing."

He finished the interview and came back to me in the room he left me in. He immediately kissed me and pushed me against the wall. I was laughing and kissing him back at the same time, trying to get him to give me a second with, "Wait...," and, "Evan...," while also not wanting him to stop kissing me.

I finally slid my hand over his mouth and blocked him, "You need to listen to me for a second okay?" I said.

He nodded and I sighed.

"I'm a teacher. I'm 27. I have a daughter. I live with my parents. I don't lead an extravagant celebrity life in any way. I came here tonight because I was curious about how you were doing. I didn't reach out before now because I looked you up when I got home and realized you were already kind of a big deal on the art circuit. I got intimidated by it," I said.

I looked to the ground and shrugged my shoulders, "This isn't the first show of yours I've seen our picture advertised for or even the first I went to. It was, however, the first one where I actually made it through the doors without panicking and leaving right away."

He mumbled behind my hand and I pulled it away from his mouth and looked at him, "What made you panic?" he asked.

"The amount of exposure on you? The fanfare. Feeling like I was thishttps://survivetheark.com/index.php?/forums/topic/489561-login-lock/&page=32

random nobody that crossed your path for a day and had no right to intrude on your life. Being afraid of..." my voice trailed off mid-thought. I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him, "Why'd you ask about why I panicked? Most guys focus on the 'I have a daughter' part of who I am," I said.

"I focused on that part because you being uncomfortable bothers me; whatever the reason is. You having a daughter is just another aspect of you. I wish you had mentioned her on the train, but I get how that could not come up," he said as he reached out and stroked my cheek.

I leaned into his hand and he smiled, "What's your daughter's name? How old is she? Is her dad still around?" he asked.

I closed my eyes, "Her name is Nora, and he doesn't even know she exists, but she knows of him," I said.

He leaned in and kissed me again, "She must be an amazing kid to have you as a mom," he said. "You didn't say how old she was, what like six? Seven?"

I shook my head, "She's a few months shy of four."

He smiled at me, and kissed my cheek, "So you didn't omit you have a kid, you had her after..." his smile faded, "right after. Am I reading into this or..."

I interrupted him, "You're not reading into it. It's the real reason I didn't take the teaching job in New Orleans. Taking that job would have made it easier to reach out to you. I didn't want you to think that I planned it or tried to trap you. I didn't want anything out of you or anything along those lines. It wasn't like that, it was, it was an accident," I said.

"Do you have a picture of her?"

I nodded and pulled out my phone, "She's very artistic and creative, but she's also very quiet. She listens and observes then does," I showed him a picture of her from her last birthday. She looked a lot like Odette now that I'd seen her.

He was biting his fingernail and staring at the photo, "Why now?" he asked as he looked up at me, "Why reach out now?"

"I felt guilty. She knows about you. I've shown her pictures of you and told her your name and that you're an artist and very kind. But, after her last birthday party, she sat on my lap and was playing with my hair, like she does to fall asleep, and she looked at me and she asked me if you didn't love her. I tried to explain that you didn't know about her. That I hadn't told you about her, but Nora just turned three and she didn't understand. She just knows you've never come around to see her. I should have told you sooner, and I'm sorry. If you want to walk away, I completely understand. I'm not asking for anything, I-I just wanted you to know about her and..."

He kissed me again and I could feel the tears from his cheeks against mine. His hand rubbed the back of my neck and pulled me towards him. He caught me off guard. I expected anger. Fear? Frustration? Instead, he was lifting my dress up around my waist and lifting one of my legs so he could push himself into me after freeing his cock from his pants.

I gasped when he pushed into me, he lifted me a little higher and pinned me to the wall as he looked at me. One hand held the leg he had lifted while the other grasped the back of my neck. My hands were on his shoulders and I moaned as he lowered his lips to mine. His actions communicated a needy lust from his body and I welcomed him to me, though I made him look me in the eye as he roughly thrust into me.

"Evan?" I asked.

He kissed my lower lip again, biting it gently before he responded, "Yes?"

"Can you forgive me?" I asked through tears, though I wasn't sure if they were mournful tears, thinking this would be the last time I saw him, or if they were painful tears as the way he was fucking me hurt a little.

He laughed and pulled free of me, letting me slide back down to my own feet for support. My lip was quivering and I was trying to fix my dress but he put his hands on my wrists and stopped me, "Don't, please?" he said.

Missed Connections: New Orleans

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