Non-Fiction: Train - Sex Stories

Non-Fiction: Train

I should be ashamed. But I’m not. It’s been six months since it happened; and up until now, I’ve kept my mouth shut. Now, I’ve chosen to be bold. Why? Well, it’s my resolution for 2015: to hell with what people think. I resolved to chase my worries with an imaginary lick of salt and a virtual shot of Patron, throwing all inhibitions over my shoulder. (Yes, I’m still trying to convince myself; it’s a work in progress.) By the way, this is a true story – hence the declarations. Some may condemn my activities, and I hate to be curt, but frankly, I don’t give a shit, because the experience was well worth any potential fall-out. Buckle your seat belt and brace for impact – Train is coming. ~~~ My selection was poor and classless, because I was in a hurry that morning. I knew I’d be chained to my desk all day and visible to few colleagues, so I chose skimpy material to cover my bosom and even scantier fabric to cover my bum. It was just too damn hot for anything more. Areola shone through the cotton of my bra and blouse. I wore a brown flouncy skirt and peep toe pumps in an attempt to fulfill the company dress code. But the sheerness crossed the line of professionalism, and I knew it. What I didn’t know body language told me. My co-workers, the men and some women, gawked with appreciation whilst others shook their heads in disapproval. Thankfully, there was no room for judgment on that late afternoon train home. Coolness comforted my sun-scorched skin as I descended from the ...

... street down into the concrete subway tunnel at Metro Center. The breeze surfed up the escalator, caught my skirt, and exposed my intimates. The attention whore in me was disappointed, because my accidental flash antics gained no notice from what I could see. After scanning the station, it was obvious that something was definitely wrong. The platform was easily ten folks deep with faces plastered to their cell phones. I stood there waiting for an announcement giving a clue as to what was happening, but there was nothing said. So, I made my way as close as I could get to the edge of the platform. It had been a long day, and I just wanted to get home. I could’ve waited, but I had to make it onto the next train. Yeah, my patience is another work in progress. Patience has been a struggle all my life. Christian ministers litter my family tree from as far back as its official documentation. My father and all his brothers are ministers, and my mother’s side is no less light in the occupation. This pack of do-rights, the village, saw to my having as strict an upbringing as humanly possible. I’d made a vow to my father to save it, my deflowering, for my husband. God knows I tried. However, temptation won every time. The forbidden anticipation, the arousal slick during masturbation, and the verboten finger penetration only intensified my desire to experience fornication. Ever since my girl on girl romp with my first girlfriend, who shall remain nameless, it’s been hard to cease my wild child ...