The Delicate Frisson of a Train

Rush hour is always a pain, the crowds, the crush, the urgency to get home or to work. Uncomfortable, it makes the journey far worse but it is unavoidable.

Friday nights takes on a new meaning. The street bars and cafes are full, people enjoying one or two before they go home, the train is more mellow. People still want to get home but there are two days of who knows what before getting back on the train.

He wasn't in his first flush of youth anymore. Late forties, tall and well built, a jaw the mix of lucky genes and a determined streak, a physique honed by years of relentless exercise. Eyes quite blue, hair a light brown, he had a restlessness about him that never seemed to leave. He knew he caught the eyes of women, he didn't know whether it was because he strode, not walked, because his shoulders stayed square or because he had handsome features. He'd never asked.

The carriage was quite crammed but he noticed them as the doors opened. He paused to let others on and he sensed the body language. Two girls, young, one in jeans and a t-shirt, the other, well, he noticed the other checking him out. As was his way, he appeared to ignore her. He could tell from the edge of his vision that she was quite tall, had shoulder length curly hair and a slender frame.

He manoeuvred himself so he was next to them. There was a rail above them and they all held it for stability. He was turned so he was square on to them and the blonde was turned towards him. He could hear their conversation as he pretended to be engrossed in articles on his phone.

The train pulled out and picked up speed. It swayed and the blonde bumped against him, once, twice. He resisted the movement of the train so that when it moved, she moved into him. He noticed that she was wearing a grey, low cut top which showed her young, firm breasts off well. She had a checked shirt tied around her waist over her short skirt and her delicate legs ended in ankle boots.

The train continued its journey and she continued to knock into him. He pretended to ignore it but changed hands on his phone, so now the nearest arm to her was down at chest height. She was holding her handbag with that side and, as the train moved, she would fall against him, her arm connecting with his. She seemed to make little move to pull away and he could feel himself getting hard.

He knew this was illicit, taboo, she seemed little out of her teens but he could also notice she was stealing glances at him and then hurriedly taking her eyes away. The train pulled in to another station and more people crowded in. Her friend said her goodbyes and left. He felt himself pushed closer to her and she wasn't moving away.

Her side was toward him and he turned slightly away, still holding on to the rail above. Her shoulder was close to his upper arm and, as the train began to move, he felt it sway into him. It bumped against him a couple of times and then seemed to rest there, innocently, innocuously.

He felt himself freeze in anticipation and forced himself to exhale, his chest rising and falling with his breaths, each movement enhancing their contact. Her head was turned away but it was close to him, he able to smell a delicate fragrance, light and tantalising as it caressed his senses.

He swapped arms so now the hand on the rail was above her, creating a hollow beneath his bicep against which she seemed to fold. He realised that from her shoulder to his hip, they were melded, moving back and forth in unison as the train moved. He could feel his erection forcing against his trousers, tormenting him as it grazed the fabric constraining it.

He knew his station was close, less than five minutes away. Still their eyes had yet to meet but he could feel her warmth, her side, her movements agains him. Her hair was delicate, fine, light in colour with curls throughout, her skin pale and delicate. He could feel the side of her breast occasionally as the train's moves engineered it and he relished the firmness and still he ached for release.

As the announcement on the train was made, he turned towards the exit. This placed his body square into her side, he still pretending to ignore her. The train swayed, her body gently moved away and then came back, folding itself to his. The side of her hip was pressed against his hardness, unrelenting against her.

The train slowed and he placed his phone back in his pocket. She inhaled and he noticed her breasts rise, the cleavage slightly crease as they lifted together.

The carriage came to a halt, alas without a final shudder to jostle her against him, and he knew he had to leave.

Without prompting or signal, she moved to the door. He felt the seemingly instantaneous coolness of the lack of her body against him but he sought the camouflage of the dusk, knowing his erection would be obvious as best.

They moved to the exit, neither acknowledging the other, he feeling tight in his chest, a hand jammed in his trouser pocket in an attempt to hide his tumescence.

They passed through the ticket barrier, passing their train cards over the machines, checking out.

For the first time he looked at her directly. She glanced at him, seemed to blush, her eyes fluttered down but then she defiantly lifted them to meet his gaze.

He held a half smile on his face and kept his eyes locked on hers as he turned to walk to his car. She fell into step next to him. Not a word passed their lips, his mind racing of what he wanted to do to this young, lithe creature, almost like a delicate doe, ready for flight but seemingly entranced.

They reached his car, he pressed the transmitter and the lights flashed twice. Elegant, German, powerful, understated, her eyes took it in. She moved to the passenger side and got in as he did behind the wheel.

He noticed her legs out of the corner of his eye. Her skirt had ridden up and her thighs rested on the leather seat. His erection was still firm in his trousers and still no words were exchanged as he pulled away, her eyes firmly staring ahead.

The radio was tuned to a relaxing station, one he liked on return from work and the journey was a few minutes. He pulled into his drive next to an graceful, period house, painted in mute colours and with a well kept garden.

They got out of the car and moved to the steps leading up to the porch. The light came on automatically and he pulled his house keys out of his pocket. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and she seemed to hesitate. He reached in, flicked on a hallway light and moved in to the house. He stopped, looked back and met her gaze. She seemed almost mesmerised as she stepped in to the house and closed the door behind her.

He hadn't moved. He reached out and held out his hand. She looked at him, down at his hand and reached out hers. His, strong, broad hand with prominent veins held hers as he turned and walked down the Victorian hallway.

She didn't resist, she didn't hurry to be next to him.

As they reached the end of the hallway, it opened up into a large living space, a kitchen at one end. He turned to her.

She was standing before him, looking into his eyes. He held her gaze and reached down to untie the checked shirt. He pulled it from around her waist slowly and threw it over a nearby chair.

He took the moment to drink her in. Slender, graceful, long legs from a short skirt, tight top accentuating a pair of firm looking breasts. A young face, encased in blonde curls.

"I have to know," he said, her eyes starting at the first words exchanged between them.

"What?" she responded, sounding mildly nervous.

"How old are you?"

His eyes were drilling into hers, no more than 8 inches separating them, his erection still pressing out against his trousers.

"18," she said, "and you?"

"I'm 46, is that a problem?" he refused to hide his age or look away. He was that age and wasn't afraid to admit it.

She shook her head, seemingly unwilling to speak more.

He reached up and lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger. Her slight neck was arched up and her eyes seemed reluctant to leave his.

He leaned in to her neck, grazing the skin with his breath. "You sure?" he said, in a low voice.

She hurriedly nodded and her eyes fluttered shut as his lips met her skin.