I lived on the beach for a while and commuted by motorcycle to the city. It was a pretty long trip, but fun, with winding roads taking me over the coastal hills and then along a lovely, rolling freeway to my office. I loved to ride, still do, in fact. It was a great way to start my day.
In the summer, it was beautiful, but in the winter months, when even California gets its share of rain, I sometimes regretted not having a car. Usually my rainsuit and boots did the job, but if it was really bad, I'd walk to the station near my house and take the train.
I hated to do that because it was a hell of a long trip and minus the fun factor of the motorcycle. The train had to skirt the hills and pass through a valley before finally running parallel with the highway. Instead of my usual 40-50 minute ride, I could count on an hour on the train, plus the ten or so minutes on the shuttle to the office. The rain would have to be pretty bad for me to take it, but sometimes I did.
On one of those days, I woke up and heard the rain like thunder on the roof. I looked out the window in the early morning light and saw standing water in the street and the rain so heavy it looked like a series of sheer curtains, letting little light through. It would be a train day I realized. So I hustled getting ready, and within half an hour I was standing in the shelter of the train platform. The train came almost immediately and I congratulated myself on catching it instead of the next one a half hour later that I usually got.
The train was almost empty, and I chose the end row with seats that faced one another, draped my raincoat on the seat between me and the window, kicked back, put my feet up, and waited for the train to pull out.
Just before it did, a woman came into the car. She walked up the car in my direction and, though the car was nearly empty, sat across from me and put her feet up on the seat next to me. Figures, I muttered. At least she was attractive, though, with blue eyes and short brown hair, a green skirt suit that came to her knees, and stockings the made her tapered, slim legs shimmer down to the low boots she was wearing. Her only concession to the rain was an umbrella which she laid on the floor. She smiled a greeting and sat back, putting her feet on the seat next to me. I returned her smile and nodded.
As the train lurched forward, she took out a portfolio and opened it across her knees, looking down at it intently, reading what was there, making notes with a pen. I gave her another quick looking over, awarded her an A+, and then turned my gaze out the window at the rain-soaked landscape and the raindrops that streaked across the window.
Getting comfortable, she slid down a bit and bent her legs, resting the balls of her booted feet on the edge of the chair, raising the portfolio up on her thighs to make it easier to see. I glanced down at her and did a double take. Her legs were slightly apart, and the skirt draped down, opening enough that I could see down to the crack of her ass. Her stockings were thigh-highs, very sexy lace tops, and she was either wearing no underwear or a thong. I couldn't see from the angle I was looking, and I didn't want to stare, but I did my share of peeking. I'll take my cheap thrills where I can get them.
After one especially long look, I glanced at her face. She was looking directly at me. I felt my face turn hot and looked away out the window, figuring she'd move away in a huff or maybe even make a nasty comment about me being a pervert, which, to be honest, I definitely am.
But she did none of those things. Instead, she looked back down at her portfolio. And opened her legs a bit more, tipping her knees my way just slightly, giving me a good look.
She had to know I was looking. Didn't she? I know she saw my eyes. Then why didn't she close her legs at least?
