A train journey with an unexpected extra.
This is the story of a train journey and although it is true it is about getting from London to Birmingham, it is also another journey for me, a journey of self-discovery. You're probably wondering a little about who I am, so a few words are needed. I will put out the obvious ones, like outgoing, friendly woman in her mid-20s. I'll add hazel eyes, brunette and big boobs because for some of you that means something. I add the words fun-loving and adventurous because it can mean so many different things: we all interpret these words in our own way. I always smile when I heard people describe themselves in that way- I wonder what they would think of my version of fun-loving and adventurous.
Train journeys are for most people a chore, A to B - get it over with. And that day I will admit I probably saw it as an A to B exercise, coming at the end of a long, hot day shopping in London. I had my purchases in my bag, some rather special clothes I had sought out to surprise my boyfriend. He had noticed something a girl was wearing in a film and I had felt him stiffen in involuntary response. Let's just say what she was wearing isn't available in the big high street chains.
It was when we had to change trains at Hemel Hempstead that the story starts. A train was cancelled and so all of us were directed to an already full train. We squeezed into the corridors and between seats - an awkward experience of enforced closeness. Not that I mind it I hasten to add. It seemed strangely erotic because my thoughts had wandered a bit in the first leg of the journey out of London. Maybe it was the garments in my bag that had stimulated my imagination. Sorry I should add - I do have a very fertile imagination. Fertile is a good word, I smiled at that. Certainly my mind had seemed especially open to new possibilities, ones that had both seemed exciting but also right on the edge of acceptable. Risky also. But I smiled at that. I couldn't help find the risky bit strangely exhilarating. There have been a few risky encounters before that day reader, ones I may yet tell but I sensed a new boldness on the train and I was impatient if I'm honest.
I have been in public squeezes before - on buses, the underground and so on. But this time we were literally packed. I was in the corridor by the end of the carriage and I tried to assess who I was having this clothes-on orgy with. To my left was a middle aged woman, well dressed, somewhat preoccupied. To my right, a large woman in a denim jacket probably around my age. In front of me was another man, well-built probably in his 50s in tee shirt and jeans but with his back to me. I realised my large boobs pressed against his back, something, if I'm honest, I didn't really mind.
The most intriguing for me there was a tall older man behind me, bald and slightly overweight, in a business suit. I had noticed him looking at me when we jostled for space in the corridor. He was looking at me in a way I found interesting. You see reader we do all find different things interesting: it touches us in a way that captivates us. I should add I suppose that it was interesting to me because his look had tapped into a kink that was growing stronger with each passing day. I suppose it had to slip out at some time in this story so I may as well admit it now. I know you will have your own kinks, but mine is older men. There I said it. The words are out there now. Don't leave me now, there are good reasons - just stay with me. Oh did I forget to say? When I say my kink is older men I don't just mean chatting to them, although that is incredibly erotic also.
So I stood wedged between the middle aged man in front of me and this older man behind me. He had managed to position himself so he was behind me and able to look down the front of my dress, being much taller than me.
You're wondering what I was wearing. The truth is not very much under my thin, billowy summer dress. A strapless bra that hardly kept my F boobs in order and a very tiny G string, a thing of mainly elastic with a tiny triangle of thin white satin. I did say it was a hot day so please excuse the fact it felt a bit wet down there between my legs. The tiny white satin triangle was sticking to me and I could feel it rubbing as I flexed my thighs. I probably should also mention I had started to get wet because of my thoughts of how I was going to surprise my boyfriend with a new garment. Garment is the loosest possible term for a bra harness and I smiled again at how wet it had made me when I tried it on; a wetness that lingered in the tiny G string.
The older man behind me had worked out that my dress was billowy - a nice word. Thin and gaping would be another description. There wasn't much of it also I should add, an olive green material that only just hung onto my shoulders and didn't bother to try reaching my knees. So really not much at all. And very loose and thin. I mean actually very thin. When I wrapped my hand over the dress it felt like touching skin. I had done it in the morning when I put it on, relishing the sensual pleasure of my hand over my body. In truth, when I had done it had been imagining many other hands groping the dress. Male hands of a certain type, the sort not spoken of in polite circles. But I have digressed.
The man behind me was looking straight down the front of my dress since his head was pretty much over my shoulder. I could feel his breath on my hair he was that close. On another occasion I would have baulked at this invasion of my personal space, but today was different. Let's say I was in another place mentally that hot day. I shuddered. Was I really going to see some of my very wayward wishes fulfilled? It seemed unlikely if I was practical about it: too many things had to be in place.
