The platform was packed with commuters much like himself, juggling coffee, briefcases, and a full day's worth of agendas swirling in their heads. He leaned forward to look down the track in the direction of Vienna station. A soft glow along the high, chain link fence bordering the tracks gave evidence of an approaching train. A moment later headlights appeared, as the Metro-rail Orange-line commuter train bore down on the West Falls Church platform. Other heads turned in unison when the horn signaled final approach. Collectively, everyone prepared to board what would be an already crowded train. 

Hydraulic doors hissed and clattered open, as the press of humanity, caffeine-laden Styrofoam cups, and shoulder-strapped computers jostled for any remaining seats. He was in no rush for one because it only meant that he’d have to sit with someone’s rump in his face for the next dozen stops or so. Granted, there may be an ass or two that wouldn’t be such an unpleasant distraction, but with his luck it’d be some overweight jarhead going to Pentagon City. Instead, he stood near the door and one of the vertical steel poles to lean against. Leaning was the mark of experienced “commutership”. Gripping the poles tightly was a sure sign of a tourist agenda, not that shorts, sunhats and cameras weren’t enough to make the distinction. 

The doors closed after the warning chime sounded, and the train accelerated out of the station. Next stop – East Falls Church. He surveyed the remaining space around him and grimaced. The next stop was going to have at least as many riders trying to board. At this early hour, nearly all Northern Virginians felt they had a God-given right to board a train no matter how full it was…and they would. Heaven forbid having to wait another three minutes for the next one. As the train slowed impatient faces on the platform flashed by the window. With a hiss and a clatter the doors opened to the throngs eager to make their way onto the train…and they did. 

Several people shouldered their way past him, forcing their way down the aisle between the seats to stand with their butts in someone’s face. The remaining riders collected in the open area just inside the door. Dark brown hair adorning the head of five feet ten inches of goddess brushed his face, as she turned to stake her claim, her shoulder brushing his chest.

“I’m sorry. Excuse me,” she said, glancing briefly at him and then looking away.

“No problem,” he replied, really meaning it. It definitely was not a problem. Looking down, his hand holding his coffee was only a few inches from one of the most perfect breasts he’d seen in recent history. Right then he wished the train was going to Toronto instead of the fifteen-minute ride to Farragut North station in downtown Washington DC. 

Chimes sounded and the doors started to close. A metal briefcase appeared between the closing door panels with a dull thud. Emergency sensors pulled the doors back immediately, and in stepped a military-type who had twice as much body as space left on the train. With a rude push and a shove, he managed to squeeze on, backing in so the doors could close without pinching his fat ass. The rude fuck deserved to have his penis mashed between the doors all the way to the Ballston stop. 

When the train began to move, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd shifted. Several people reached for the nearest pole to hang on. The brunette was pushed toward him, forcing her to turn slightly, facing him. Her left breast brushed across the knuckles of his left hand holding his coffee and wound up pressed against the right side of his chest. He curled his hand inward and lifted his coffee slightly; giving her more room, doing his best to avoid spilling hot coffee into her ample, freckle-laced cleavage.

There was no place for her to grab to hang on, but the press of bodies was so tight it didn’t matter. As the train sped into a wide sweeping turn, the riders shifted again. She was pressed from behind, forced to turn and face him directly. Her left breast pressed into his chest while her right pinned his wrist and the hand holding the coffee squarely between her breasts. They were sandwiched in, pelvis-to-pelvis. His manhood was separated from her womanhood by only a couple of layers silk, wool and cotton. They both blushed and begged to be excused. Neither looked at the other. 

He tried not to think about where his cock was nestled, but reciting box scores and batting averages were not going to be enough. Nature prevailed. His manhood twitched when she shifted her stance despite his mightiest efforts to deny it. It couldn’t be helped. Nothing could prevent his cock from swelling, and there was nothing preventing her from feeling it happen. With discretion becoming the better part of valor, he figured it was a perfect time for a diversion.

“If I had a straw in this coffee, I’d offer you some,” he said, lightly. “As tightly as we’re packed in here I don’t think I can even lift my arm.” 

“That’s okay, its best you don’t try to move. I’m sorry…I,” she started to say and then stopped as the train tilted slightly going into another curve. The passengers shifted again, inertia pulling her away slightly. The silk of her blouse and the flimsy camisole underneath did little to hide the profile of extended nipples. They held eyes downcast trying hard not to look at the other. There was no question arousal was now their travel companion. As the car righted, she pressed back into him, this time looking up at him. Green eyes smiled. Dilated pupils spoke a mixture of forgiveness, permission and desire.

He heard all three confessions, his own lust rising with his manhood, flexing hard. His cock rolled in his boxers, lifting upward, pressing into her crotch. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes fell from his to his mouth, studying his lips. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. The look on her face was one of those concentrated stares focused on something far away and unseen. He fell into the depths of countless fantasy images hidden behind her eyes. He imagined a similar look on her face if he had her pinned down, pushing her legs open to help himself to a mouthful of silk panties and the sweet treasure they held. 

As his own visions played out in his head, there was no doubt the same distant look plastered itself all over his face too. Her hips moved slightly, shifting her stance. He imagined she rolled them upward in an attempt to impale herself on his cock. It’d be so easy. He could just lift her up, cradle her ass in his hands and drive into her, pinning her against the wall. Images of a favorite movie scene flashed through his head. He was Mickey Rourke and she was Kim Basinger fucking wildly in that darkened stairwell in “Nine-and-a-Half Weeks”. 

She moistened her lips and images in his head changed. He imagined her sliding down his body, fingernails dragging across his nipples, disappearing in the crush of passengers, unzipping his pants to swallow his cock. He flexed again, as his erection continued to thicken. Again her hips moved to answer him, confirming she was in the same rush with him. Lust plummeted them into that place where there are no rules – that place where there'd be no turning back. When their eyes met, they both knew it couldn’t happen despite knowing that if it did it would be nothing short of incredible. So there they stood – his hand in the span of her nipples – hips pressed tightly together in the lust of a freak moment in time – both destined to an abrupt return to roles of anonymous commuters.

They were both lost in the moment, captured by separate fantasies brought about by one unplanned circumstance. Their days would continue after they were deposited in their respective places of employment. Neither would ever know the taste of the other. Neither would ever hear the sounds of passion the other made while deep in the grips of a righteous fuck. Neither would feel the strength of the animal that surged through their bodies in that ultimate moment when nothing else matters. Their lives were unchanged. Both would get back onto the train to return home at the end of their day. Chances were good that they’d look for the other – not to share another intimate moment – but to share a knowing smile that respects the boundaries of anonymity.

 * * *

Copyright 2002 - MyErotica
All rights reserved.  Re-use only with permission from the author.
Gregory@myerotica.net