She was there.
Again.
Reading a book, gently rocking to the rhythm of the tracks. Her knees held tightly together and the book in her lap.
She was impeccably dressed.
As usual.
This was the third week he'd been catching the train and he always looked forward to seeing her. He caught an earlier train than he needed to because it was her train. In the evenings, he caught the train ten minutes later than he could because she was there.
There were benefits. He was getting to work earlier and he was staying a little later. This had been noticed and his bosses were pleased. It was all because of her.
She looked across at him with her brown eyes and short, blond hair. Her hair was straight, almost masculine, but there was nothing masculine about her. She had a small nose and inviting thin lips on a face that was unblemished.
She was not young. He guessed that she was older than he was. Maybe ten years. He didn't know. He wasn't good at guessing ages. Whatever age she was, she looked good. She had character. Always the same red lipstick and always a smart suit. He loved her shoes, whichever she chose. Her feet were small and perfectly formed. Open-toed shoes were his favourite. Then he could admire her small toes and the meticulously painted toenails. Red. Like her lipstick.
He thought of sucking on those toes. He'd never thought of doing that for anyone else. He'd always considered it gross. But he would. For her. They looked so clean. So perfect. So....delicious.
He smiled at her. She smiled back faintly. Her smile didn't invite him to go further, but it didn't reject him either. The exchange of smiles was enough for her. But not for him.
He was going to follow her tomorrow and find out where she worked. God, I'm a stalker, he thought. If only he could get up off his arse and introduce himself, then he wouldn't have to.... stalk her. That was silly. He wasn't stalking, he just wanted to find out where she worked. Only because he was too shy to get off his arse and ask her.
He sat there, across from her, willing himself to say hello. Of course, he didn't. He sat there for the whole thirty minute journey imagining how it would be if they could go out for a drink or dinner or.....
Or what?
It was all a fantasy. He would never have the guts to talk to her. And he knew it.
The red lipstick. He wondered if she....went down. If she would.... suck. He didn't like thinking of her like that. It was crude. But he did. He couldn't help it. Hands on her small head, holding her by her blonde hair. Her lipstick leaving streaks on his.....
Suck cock. That's what you mean. Just say it. Just admit and think about it as much as you like. She's there, but she doesn't know. Who cares? She's got her head in that book, when really, you'd like her head in your lap, her mouth open, her tongue....
Shit.
He didn't like having those thoughts. They got him excited and when he got excited, he got.... a hard on. He didn't enjoy those on the train. It was embarrassing and made him self-conscious. He would be desperate to adjust himself, to make it more comfortable, but the best he could do would be to shift himself in his seat and hope that his cock would find somewhere to settle without causing further pain and embarrassment.
She turned the page. As he'd done for every day of the three weeks, he looked at her hands and saw that she didn't wear a wedding ring. Or any ring. Don't be silly, that doesn't mean anything. She could be living with someone or she was one of those independent women that didn't need to wear a ring to be committed to someone else. But it gave him hope, however small, that there was a chance.
If he could get off his arse, that is, and go over and say hello.
Then he could sit next to her. Maybe her hands would settle on his thigh. Or his lap. Rub his....
He could always sit next to her. That wouldn't be too hard.
Hard. An unfortunate choice of words.
She always had a seat next to her when he got on, but three stops later the train would be full. He always sat in the same seat so that he could better look at her. Furtive, quick glances. Once she'd smiled her morning greeting, she rarely glanced at him again until it was her stop. Then she would occasionally nod a farewell. He could sit next to her, but then he wouldn't be able to watch her so easily.
A conundrum.
But then he could talk to her. The prospect filled him with fear and excitement. Just one word. Hello. Or five. Hello, my name is John. It didn't seem too hard.
Hard. Again.
