I thought I should tell you about a most interesting morning I have just experienced whilst the emotions and feelings are still fresh in my mind.
As some of you may know I work in Mayfair in the marketing department of a media company. I am in my early 30's and have a certain attraction for those that like a highly feminine "stylised look". Over the years I have become increasingly fascinated -- even addicted to -- beauty treatments. I readily admit that this might be as a result of some deep seated insecurities or trauma. Or the fact that as far as looks are concerned I am reasonably shallow.
As a daddy's girl I was treated as a princess. And of course one of the princesses that everyone wanted to be was Barbie. I am that Barbie girl. I worked hard in the gym and with my diet to ensure I made the best of my natural attributes -- long shapely legs, a nice firm bum and a tiny waist. My boobs were not of the required Barbie standard so these have been surgically enhanced. My face has been filled with Botox so it is porcelain smooth, my lips plumped and my eyebrows tattooed. My eyes are piercing blue and eyelashes long. My hair is long, of course.
The overall look is highly dramatic -- like a real life doll. I definitely do not have a natural or "girl next door" look. I am not even like a catwalk fashion model. I am, as I say, a stylised idea of how a man would design a woman. Baby faced and innocent, curves in all the right places, long tumbling hair and sensual lips with doll eyes.
As a result I get a lot of looks. No that sound arrogant. As a result I get a lot of people staring. Women and girls who say / think "who does she think she is" and guys that think that just because I look like a Barbie doll I am game for sex and so are uncharacteristically lewd with me as a result. I don't help with that image, I will readily admit, as I am fond of tight fitting clothes that exaggerate my curves and assets purchased at great cost from cosmetic surgeons and also of high heels that make me even taller and imposing.
However, I am a human being. I have feelings and emotions and am actually sensitive to what people think of me. I may come across as an unfeeling bitch but the arrogance you see is actually defensive. In fact, the whole look, the obsession with beauty and addiction to beauty treatments is probably one whole defensive act. I probably just need some old fashioned unrequited desire!
Anyway. Because I work in the media world there is considerable latitude in dress code. Which means I can resort to type and be a Barbie girl. Which may be OK in the streets and cocktail bars of Mayfair but not so acceptable in the leafy suburbs where I have to travel into work from.
Today in London in early September it is overcast, drizzly, but a little humid. It's hard to get the right balance -- it's probably a little on the chill side, particularly in the evening, for a summer dress, but too warm for trouser suits, coats and whatnot.
So I chose a pair of black thin leggings worn under knee length high heeled boots, a white wrap t shirt to show off my ample bosom and crop style leather jacket for a fashion statement rather than some weather protection. My makeup was on point. Smoky eyeshadow and deep gloss pink lipstick, some bronze to accentuate my cheekbones even more and hair pulled back in a pony-tail. I was hot to trot.
I live about 40 minutes away from Central London requiring a tortuous journey by tube train, stopping at every station as people push on and push off. Needless to say, its rush hour, with us all packed in like sardines. It's most unpleasant. Added to which I had the usual gawping at me. My only solution was to escape into my own world and turn up my headphones to listen to music -- some deep house rhythms that I love to dance too.
I was interrupted by a tap on my arm and the embarrassed face of young man. His lanyard ID badge was from Westminster University - obviously a typical student studying applied mathematics or advanced physics. Whatever.
He tapped me again and mumbled. I put on my best pissed off face, took out my headphone buds and drawled in my most insincere Chelsea accent:
"What is it babe?"
"I do apologise. You are very beautiful and all that and I couldn't help it. Sorry. Sorry." he mumbled.
"What?" I said.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," he said as he pushed back into the crowd around us, creating for a brief second clear space between us before the train jolted and everyone pressed forward and he was pushed back into me even closer than before.
It was then that I realised what he was all embarrassed about. His pants were bulging with his erection that he was desperately trying his hardest to turn away from touching me. I turned and shot him a look of sheer disgust, and turned away trying to edge myself down the train as his face turned pink with embarrassment.
Anyone that knows that trying to manoeuvre in a crowded rush hour train is tough at best and nigh impossible in high heels and with the movement of the train I stumbled and fell back into the poor young man who grabbed and steadied me for a second before letting go in sheer terror as I settled into a new position with his hard cock pressed against my bum. I could feel how hard he was between the thin material of my leggings and his attempts to move away from him had the result that he simply kept moving back and forth rubbing his cock against me whilst, if that was possible, his erection got even harder.
I turned my head and looked at him and snapped:
"Look, just stop moving".
The guy stumbled, put a hand on my waist to steady himself and stood motionless. I could tell from the tenseness of his body that he was concentrating on trying not to move or make the situation even worse.
As the train rattled along I smiled to myself as I began to see the funny side of the poor adolescent's predicament. He was clearly a shy, nervous type and deeply embarrassed at getting excited and didn't mean any harm. In fact I should be flattered I guess.
Every now and again I could feel his hard cock press into my bum. The embarrassment was clearly not affecting his ardour. He also tightened and loosened his fingers on my hip as he continued to steady himself but as I reached up to grab a rail to stop wobbling more my t shirt raised up exposing the skin at my waist. The second his fingers touched my bare flesh he pulled them away as if he had an electric shock but had no choice but to put his hand back to steady himself.
I swear his cock twitched against my bum at that moment.
I turned my head again towards him and he leant in to hear me.
"Can't you think of your granny or something" I whispered.
"I'm trying everything from reciting equations in my head to trying to think of the titles of all Shakespeare's plays, but, for Christ's sake, I am standing next to Barbie and I can't fucking control myself. Sorry for swearing".
"What do you mean Barbie? Why should that excite you?"
"I have two older sisters and they had so many Barbie dolls. I used to play with them when I was younger dressing them up in clothes I wanted them to wear. I saw you getting on the train and thought I was in a dream. I didn't think I would get so close I just wanted to look. You are perfect. I think I fell in love with those dolls!"
I thought that was kind of sweet and for what reason I am still trying to really understand I wiggled my bum against him feeling his adoring cock firm against me. I guess it was my way of acknowledging his honesty. His fingers responded to my bum tease as he moved his hand toward the front of my waist tracing nervous little circles on the bare skin. Oh dear, the situations I get myself into. I know what you are going to say -- I ask for it. Many think the same way.
The train pulled into West Kensington -- by my calculation there were 5 stops to Westminster. About 20 minutes to endure the journey. The movement of people on the train created some space between us, allowing the opportunity to uncouple and find his own space on the train. He clung to his position, obviously anxious that his moment with his Barbie doll was soon to be over, and desperate to keep his contact.
The train started off again and I looked at him. There was one shelf seat available at the rear of the carriage on the opposite side to where the carriage door opened so I moved towards the seat passing the boy as I did so, his eyes following me wistfully like a soppy puppy. And, because I'm at heart a soppy soul too, I grabbed his hand in mine as I passed and dragged him with me. The seat was no more than a shelf to lean against but at least the wall of the carriage gave some support and I leaned against it, with my legs slightly apart, allowing the soppy boy to position himself between my legs before the carriage filled up again and we were hemmed into the corner.
"Still excited I see", I said, with a faint smile on my lips.
"Yes, sorry."
"Don't you have a girlfriend or anything to help with that", I asked.
