“This is a story I found in the archives, written about 20 years ago while living in South-East London.” ——————— I know that jacket' I thought to myself. I'd seen it somewhere before - leather with fake fur around the collar and half way down the sleeves. Not perhaps the nicest piece of fashion you're ever likely to see, but certainly distinctive. I racked my brains trying to think where I'd seen it, and was almost at the point of giving up when I saw the legs of the woman wearing the jacket. Those I most definitely remembered. Last Tuesday - delayed train, she was sitting opposite me wearing a pink dress made of some sort of scrunchy material, and her legs were remarkable in their tanned smoothness. They were the sort of legs you just wanted to run your hand up, knowing that it was just the owner's will, not friction, that would put an end to the journey. It was perhaps the first time ever that I'd been happy for a delay to my train. The line I lived on was notorious for late, or cancelled trains, but this time I left it up to my fellow passengers to endure the impotent frustration - I just focused on not being caught looking at those legs. When I heard her speaking into her mobile phone, I was surprised - it was a half posh accent - either a well bred person trying to be a little 'street' or the other way around. Either way, when I looked up I noticed that she was attractive, with the added bonus of dimples and very sparkly eyes. She was telling her friend that she was hung over like never before, giving the usual speech about not drinking ever again, and that she was going home to 'die.' As she got off, I tried valiantly to get a look up her dress, but to no to no avail, yet when she got up to leave, I was afforded a look down her impressive cleavage - and it was enough to keep me smiling for days. Anyway - so - here she was again, and I relished the prospect of sitting near her once more. Thing was - the station was teeming with people, and I had no clue which of the ten carriages she would get on. So - I made my choice and sat down near the front of the train, craning my neck to see if she was anywhere to be seen. She wasn't. Not immediately, anyway. Two minutes later, the connecting doors opened and she walked through our carriage, glancing at me briefly before moving further to the front of the train. Cursing my luck, I opened my book to get my mind off what might have been. I hadn't even got past the first paragraph before my attention was wrested away - by a pair of glorious legs, gorgeous dimples, and very naughty eyes - sitting dead opposite me. I glanced up briefly, only to see that she was staring straight at me with a half smile playing across her mouth. 'You were on the train the other day, weren't you?' She asked. 'Yes' I replied. 'The delayed one'. 'I remember you', she said simply. 'And I remember that you had the hangover from hell, and that you were going home to die - which obviously never eventuated.' I ventured - throwing whatever caution I had firmly into the teeth of the roaring gale. 'You listened in to my conversation! God, that's so bad - that was a private chat with a friend!' She was mocking me now. 'Yes, private for your friend, very, very public for you.' I defended myself - even when I knew she was joking. There was a silence for a minute or so, when I could think of nothing to say, and she looked as if she'd said all there was to be said. 'So, did you see what you wanted to see?' She asked me. 'I'm sorry?' I answered, genuinely unsure as to her meaning. 'You were looking at my legs for most of the trip, and I was wondering if you saw anything of any interest?' I never blush, but right now I think I came very close. 'Um - Everything I saw interested me greatly.' 'But you never got your glory, did you?' 'Meaning?' 'You never got a flash of my knickers, did you?' I was struck almost dumb. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was glad of the fact that I was on the late train which meant fewer people to be embarassed in front of. I wasn't sure if she was working up to a very public humiliation of her victim, or whether she just wanted to play. 'I - no - I may as well be honest, I saw no knickers.' 'Shame, she said, because at one point I offered you the perfect opportunity, but you were too busy trying to convince me that you were reading.' 'That is a shame' I said. 'But I made up for it by getting the most amazing view down your top as you stood up to leave.' 'So you should have', she replied - 'I took my time over that manoevre.' I wasn't sure how to respond to her frankness, so I just offered my genuine gratitude. 'Thanks'. 'Pleasure'. She replied. Another silence, another awkward moment. 'So, do you often look up skirts?' 'And down tops' I reminded her. 'Yes, and down tops, do you often...look?' 'Not especially', I said. But sometimes I feel like I'd be letting the male species down if I didn't.' 'So, let me get this straight' she said. 'You were trying to see my knickers and nipples not just for you, but for men everywhere?' 'Absolutely. I was performing my solemn duty. To not look would have meant immediate expulsion from the Alliance of Heterosexual Males.” I replied, to which she threw her head back and laughed a very pleasant, very musical laugh. 'Men' she said. Can't live with 'em'. It was my turn to laugh - a saying adopted by thousands of males had just been used to turn the tide, and it was delivered to perfection. 'So' I said. 'Do you often show strangers your knickers?' 'Only the cute ones.' She said, and we settled back into a pause so pregnant it very nearly gave birth. She seemed to be deep in thought looking out at suburban London slipping by. 'Were you just taking pity on a dreadful pervert?' I asked, giving voice to the nagging fear that had been stopping me from really playing the game for all it was worth. 'No' she replied. If anything, I'm the dreadful perv. I think you're gorgeous, and I wanted to let you know in my own special way.' She didn't nearly blush, she glowed to the point where she had to revert to the view from the window which suddenly turned black as we disappeared into a tunnel. I sat there wondering how far this could go, thinking that I could stop now and have a lifelong fantasy, or I could do my best to have one realised. Then the train slowed and stopped. The moments dragged as passengers tried to figure out if this was to be a brief moment or something more concerning. There was tisking and tutting, there were clearances of throats and deep sighs, classic British methods of expressing displeasure. And then, as can sometimes happen on trains in England - the lights went out. Plunged into total darkness, some passengers started chatting nervously, hoping to get things moving. After a couple of minutes a voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and Gentlemen, apologies, we’re having a small power outage, but we expect to be on the move in under fifteen minutes.” Cue more tisking and tutting, but then people accepted the situation and settled into the wait. Just then, my thoughts were interrupted by a movement - something I sensed rather than felt. I reached out slowly, tentatively, and wasn't at all surprised to feel the warmth that radiates from human skin. When my hand touched down, it was the inside of her right leg, she was facing me, legs slightly apart. I knew she must have scooched herself to the very edge of her seat. I felt the slightest tremor run through her, but knowing that the lights could come on at any moment, I began my ascent. It seemed to take forever, and I realized that I was holding my breath. Finally I felt the landscape change. Her breathing was louder, and I swear I could feel the blood racing just beneath her skin. And there was a brand new kind of heat - and as I moved my hand slowly to the source, I felt the first jolt of pure lust, because I'd come into contact with soft, downy hair, and I allowed my hands to explore more, feeling the hair stop, giving way to smooth skin to either side of her evidently open, swollen sex. Not being able to see, my imagination went into overdrive to conjour an image that would do justice to what I was sensing with my fingers. Rotating my hand so my palm was facing up, I used my index finger to find her opening, and then - as softly as I could manage - I traced the line of her lips - parted, wet, and welcoming. She began to shiver and make almost inaudible moans as I introduced my fingers inside her, and such was the charged atmosphere, she began to come. I pushed my fingers further into her convulsing, shuddering opening. She clutched at my arm and rode the waves of pleasure in silence. After a time of contemplation, her weight shifted and she was then on me, and her lips found mine, her tongue plunging into my mouth. Her hands pulled at her top, forcing her boobs out of her bra - and into my mouth. Lost in her own world, she muttered - almost to herself. 'I...want..to...come...again. An announcement over the intercom made us freeze all movement, but it was just a warning that the delay shouldn't be for too much longer. In my experience of the railway in Britain, this could mean anything from three minutes to three hours. I reached around behind her, pulling her to me and my hands played over her incredibly smooth buttocks. I cupped under her bum and lifted her slightly, earning a soft squeak, and she buried her face into my neck, kissing me and nipping me. In this position I had access to the very bottom of her pussy, and I had two fingers immediately inside her. I slid my other hand from her buttock to find that no-man's land between safety and strange - right hole and wrong hole. With my fingers slick from her juices, I slid my middle finger over and around her opening, feeling it clench beneath my touch. I applied gentle pressure to the area, and was rewarded with a soft grunt and contractions bordering on violent as she came. The most impressive thing of all? It was all carried out in total silence. She extricated herself from the nefarious huddle we had formed, and I detected the sounds of clothing being rearranged. I leaned back into my seat, doing a bit of my own arranging - namely my thoughts. I was almost at the first stage of rationalisation when I felt hands on me, working me, finding my zip. This achieved, it wasn't long before my cock was out and then being engulfed by the most amazingly full, soft lips. For me, a woman going down on me has always been a poor substitute to the real thing, but this was different. She was gentle, yet insistent, soft, but remorseless as she milked me - mouth coming to the tip then plunging down with silken smoothness, and I could control myself no longer, coming in a series of shudders. A short while later, as our breathing settled and we came to terms with what hap just happened, she settled into the empty seat to my right and took my hand in hers. 'I'm Kate'. She said. 'I'm Jack', I replied. We were still holding hands when the driver announced that we were on our way once more, and his announcement was seemingly answered by some higher power because the lights flicked on throughout the carriage. Kate rested her head on my shoulder, like a couple who had shared a thousand years worth of love and loss, and it felt somehow right, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I was aware of some inquisitive looks coming from passengers in seats nearby, but it didn't bother me in the slightest. If I was going to be known as 'that guy' from now on, then I'd earned such a nickname in truly triumphant fashion. 'What are you thinking?' Kate asked. 'Nothing worthy of note' I answered quite honestly. 'Certainly nothing to do justice to what just happened.' I added. 'What did just happen?' she asked with a hint of wonder in her voice. 'Our imaginations combined to create one amazing fantasy'. I ventured. 'I like that'. She said. 'Works for me.' The train pulled into Charing Cross Station, and we took our time disembarking - being sure to take all of our personal belongings with us, of course. On the platform, we faced each other, and rather than enduring an awkward silence, we instinctively hugged like the oldest of friends. My body - fresh from its recent sensory overload - was still acutely aware of her breasts pushed against me, her legs touching mine, and her deeply personal scent. As we pulled apart, Kate looked at me with a quiet smile. “I’d like to be lost in the dark with you again, Jack. But I’d like there to be a bed, and for there to be coffee in the morning.”