The Girl on the London Undergroun
Just posted this in another group, then realised this section may be more appropriate...
This much is true:
The London Underground ride I took in yesterday's rush hour was completely packed. But as soon as stepped on the train, I had no complaints. I found myself in the crush, standing next to a sweet looking blonde woman, perhaps no older than 25. Under the heavy winter waterproof coat, I imagined gentle curves on an irresistible figure, she was just a couple of inches shorter than my own 5'10.
We both wore jeans under our coats, as the crowd on the train increased, i felt my thigh, bent a little to hep me keep balance on the rocking journey, press slightly against the outside of her leg.
The contact was so small it could almost be incidental. Except...except she made no effort to move away. She didn't make the infinitesimally small movement that would have re-asserted the fraction of personal space she had before our legs had touched. No. She didn't move. She stayed there.
I no longer knew whether i had moved toward her, or she toward me. All I knew is that tiniest impression of physical connection was enough to trigger the most wonderful flights of erotic fantasy in my mind.
That much was true. In real life, the next thing that happened was, I was the 36 year old British guy who reluctantly left the train at the next stop. In my fantasies, well...who knows? If you'd like to join in, and help me find an alternative ending to this story, please write below, or message me.