Everyone agreed that I ought to get out more. "These things take time," they said, "but getting out won't hurt. It might speed things along. It is only a matter of time."

A solitary fishing trip might not have been what they had in mind for me, but I didn't really feel up to anything more. Or more accurately, I didn't feel much of anything; but I was getting out, wasn't I? I packed my fishing gear, rod and reel and an old army green tackle box which I hadn't even opened since Laura and I had gone fishing, when was it? Our second anniversary, up at Huzzy Lake, and the mosquitoes were so bad, so big and fierce and many that we didn't get much fishing done, but ah! the fresh fall air was so invigorating, the woods and cabin and clothing all smelled of new love and sleepy sex and endless satisfaction . . . I hauled the fishing stuff to trunk of my car, shoved a small cooler of sandwiches onto the back seat, boiled a last-minute pot of dark coffee, paused a moment, then poured it rapidly through plumes of steam into a relic of a thermos, locked up the house, and set off for the north woods.

The route was Interstate at first. Straight north. It didn't take long for things to open up. Fields and meadows streamed by. Colors were just starting to turn. The bland greens and golds of summer hadn't yet given way to the muted browns, dusky silvers and drab siennas of late November. Fall had just started, but something hinted of winter. The splintered barn on a bald hillside? Maybe it was merely the endless gray of almost empty highway ahead of me.

I drove mindlessly. Music didn't matter. Numb road noise, the dull moan of a man-made sea, settled about me, and I stared straight ahead and thought of nothing.

Railroad tracks ran parallel to the roadway, an old freight line, likely abandoned. Laura and I had planned a cross-country rail trip one time, but nothing had come of it. How pleasant it might have been to lie with her in a snug sleeper as the night train rocked and rolled through Kansas. We'd enjoy thick pea soup laced with sherry and garnished with delicate croutons and we'd sip chilled white wine in the West Coast dining car while watching the setting sun splash through Pacific breakers. We'd hold hands crossing the snow-capped Rockies and write funny post cards to our children. "The air is so thin we have to share it -- the way soaring birds feed their babies. But it's rich as chocolate. We'll bring you back some in kisses."

It was then a train came up on me, almost as if my thoughts had conjured it. I glanced over. A gleaming silver passenger train, six or seven sleek cars, and a shiny swift locomotive. It drew even with me. Gradually it gained. I glanced over again. I could make out a pair of people in the last car. A man and a woman. They were facing each other. And then they looked out their window. They peered at me for a long moment. Both of them smiled. And then they turned to each other. They kissed. I could see the kiss quite clearly through the train window. It was a melting kiss. A deep embrace of a kiss. The kind that goes on for a long time. The kind that goes on almost forever.

I would have watched that kiss forever, too, imagining . . . no, more than imagining--feeling that I was on that train, that Laura and I were the young lovers sharing that endless kiss--but then the sun came out.

It flashed against their window, obliterating them. That blink of light brought me back to reality.

At that moment the train sped up. In an instant the train surged ahead, and in another instant, and a hedge covered curve, the train was out of sight. But the sunshine stayed. Now it glinted off the back window of an old station wagon a few hundred feet ahead of me.

The colorless old wagon abruptly steered to the shoulder. Three young men, soldiers or convicts by the look of them, leaped out of it, plunged down the roadside ditch, and rushed up the other side. They raced across the green grass, unbuttoning their pants as they ran, and when they reached the hedge their penises were already free, and they peed into the dark green hedge. They peed heartily, and the pee made a strong sound as it splashed the dense crinkles of dark green leaves. On and on the men peed, while the sunshine warmed their backs, and at last they were done, and they shook themselves, and then all together they turned back towards the highway and their colorless old car, but rather than zip themselves up, they took off their pants, and they rushed forward to meet the two young women who were waiting for them midway between the hedge and the roadway.

The women were smiling and giggling and unbuttoning their blouses. The men reached the women and helped them pull down their pants and their underpants, and the women helped the men remove their shirts, and then the men were fucking the women. The three men were fucking the two women as they lay side by side in the grass with their knees raised and their bellies pressing up to receive the hard thrusts. The women smiled at each other and held hands and moaned when they felt the men come and moaned when them felt themselves come, and their cunts sucked at the wash of churning seed and sex juice, the cervixes gulped and twitched and welcomed the new sperm. When the men were done they rolled over but the women laughed for they weren't done; they sucked the men's penises until they were bolt upright and then they settled themselves upon the penises and rode up and down faster and faster until the penises erupted again. The sunshine bathed their bodies as they fucked, caressed their breasts and their eyes and their smiles.

Tired now, the women rested in the grass, and the men tended them, kissing them and smoothing their hair and rubbing their legs and feet and tickling their noses with their soft penises. The women's bellies grew big and round and men moved their rough hands gently over the hard slopes.

Soon the crowns of the babies' heads appeared, and then the whole babies, and the men helped the small bodies come out into the world, held them for a while, and then handed them solemnly to the women for suckling.

"Would you like to sit up front with me?" I asked Peter. "Just climb over the seat carefully." His five year old body was both nimble and clumsy.

"Can I sit on your lap and help drive?" he asked.

"Maybe when we get off the main highway," I promised. I ruffled his soft blond hair. "There are miles of lovely country roads up there with not a soul on them. Plenty of time for driving. And then we'll fish. We'll go out in the boat, far far out so far that there's not land anywhere."

"What if the boat springs a leak?" the boy wanted to know.

"Then we'll swim for it," I told him. I took his small hand in mine. "Don't worry. Don't worry about anything. Everything will be all right." Up ahead I could see the silver passenger train. It was stopped. It looked like it was waiting for us.

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Fantasy Train

by Mat Twassel