It had been an unusual train journey from start to finish. The guard had smiled at Sally in a friendly way as she had boarded the train but there had been something odd about his eyes which had made it difficult for her to look away. It had been the same when he had checked her ticket. It could not have lasted more than a second but it somehow seemed as if a long time had passed between her looking up at him, being caught by his strange eyes just as she handed him her ticket, and him handing the ticket back.
Sally settled back into her seat, putting her ticket away in her handbag, and looked around her. There seemed nothing amiss, nothing out of the ordinary; there was no indication that anyone else felt like she did—that something odd had happened. But there was something, she felt it quite distinctly, something had happened when the ticket had been checked. But nothing could have happened—there was no time for anything to have happened. She had looked up as the guard had approached, had offered her ticket, he had taken it, she had noticed his peculiar eyes; not that she could quite think what was odd about them—given, after all, there had been just the two—he had punched a hole in the ticket, a little crescent, and given it back to her with a smile. Yet despite the un-remarkableness of the exchange Sally felt odd.
It was only when she decided to get her magazine out of her bag that she noticed—noticed by the feel of her blouse against her skin that she was not wearing a bra. Sally looked down at herself for confirmation, a hand to her breast but no, she was not wearing a bra at all. She frowned; she distinctly remembered putting one on that morning—the new one she had bought last week from M&S. Yes, she had put it on, had had to adjust it; had admired its pretty shape in the mirror; yes, she was sure of it... but it most definitely was not there now. Sally was puzzled. How could she have forgotten to put on her bra, it was not something you forgot—any more than you forgot your panties (she was re-assured to check that she was indeed wearing those)? She was sure she had not forgotten. It didn't matter really, no one was going to notice providing she didn't stick her chest out, and it wasn't as if her nipples were standing. She could buy a new one on the way into work; put it on in the 'Ladies'. It wasn't a problem.
Sally opened her magazine, 'How to dump your boyfriend,' was the first thing that caught her eye. How appropriate, she thought, should she? She pictured Jerry. He was OK and it had been fun but, but it wasn't going to last. The feeling had been growing on her for days. Jerry was OK and fun but that was about it and 'OK' wasn't something to build 'forever' or even a long term relationship upon. The summer holiday had been super though, yes fun, and she had really enjoyed that. Sally thought back to the week in the sun. Jerry hadn't told her where they were going, she'd thought it would be a hotel in Spain or Portugal, which would have been good, but he'd surprised her with a Greek island. It had been a long drive from the airport, on the wrong side of the road, but he'd done that and when they arrived it was not an hotel but their own small little villa.
It was really sweet with its white-washed walls, Hibiscus and Bougainvillea growing in profusion and its view of the Aegean. It had its own swimming pool—all to themselves—and it was private, very private—not overlooked at all. And that was why when, almost immediately, Jerry suggested a swim and she'd said she'd find her costume, he'd asked "why?" So, feeling a little odd, she'd just dropped her clothes on the ground and stepped out hand in hand with Jerry into the sunlight completely naked. She'd looked to right and left but there was no one to see, no way for anyone to see—it really was private. And the feel of the hot sun on her skin after the rain in England- delicious!