Urgency always comes in false starts. Whenever there's a crisis, it seems like we rush and rush to take action, and then we sit and wait in tedium for everyone else in the world to catch up. So when a crisis fell in my lap on a Monday afternoon as I was trying to get out the door, I decided to take advantage of the long lulls between me fixing everything to catch up on some naughty emails.
That was a terrible idea. Me, alone in my little cube in that big, empty office, waiting for a phone call from the other side of the country, reading about the wild things Sierra did today. It's easy to see how I was a little distracted when the call came in and the problem was all cleared up and I finally got to go home.
I know it's cliche as an orange cat, but I really hate Mondays. I love my job, it's not like I dread the dull drugery of cubicle life or anything. The issue I have is that it always seems like no one anywhere actually works on Mondays. Except for me.
I mean, okay, obviously people work on Mondays. I imagine most people do, really. But, sometimes, between people coming in late or leaving early or what have you, it seems like Monday is just significantly less busy. The office feels empty most of the day, there's less urgent-turn-around work. Even the trains are less busy.
And when I have the dubious honor of staying late in the day on Monday for an urgent item, the trains are almost empty. So much the better for my distractions, I guess.
This morning, like most Mondays, the train was pretty un-crowded. I hate being in the packed cars, the rush hour cars, so I always make the trek down to the end of the station to climb into the last cars, the half-empty ones. They're never like the sardine cans up at the front, my body crammed against a hundred others. I don't know why, but every station is designed with the stairs all packed in by the head of the train, so everyone gets in there. Even when it's busy, there's always empty seats in the back, because of all the stupid people piling in up front.
In the mornings, I come in early enough and live far enough out that there's only two or three people in there when I get on. Usually the same early-risers every day. You get to recognize these people you don't even know, the close-shaved guy who always wears a tie, the guy who never wears a tie and always needs a shave. The girl who always wears that poofy jacket.
I guess I'm the girl who wears the ugly long black raincoat. They made us buy them for our uniforms in school, and it grew on me, ugly as it is. It's warm and big. So big I could go naked under it, which I've never done, no matter how much all my male former classmates begged. Not that I haven't thought about it more than I ought to.
The best part about it is the pockets. All my pretty coats have fake pockets or tiny pockets, but this is military style, so it has deep pockets. It even has the kind of pockets that let me reach inside to get at my pants pockets. You know, if girls pants had any pockets to speak of. And if I wasn't actually wearing a skirt. Kinda like pocket pockets. Like in coveralls.
Of course, after a day like today, with a nice long lull of just a wonderfully awful story about how Sierra went for a run with Ted and Ethan while I was cooped up in a cubicle, well, my brain is almost teasingly suggesting that I hike up my skirt under the long jacket and take proper advantage of my pocket pockets. I can't say I'm rejecting the idea outright, either, as I climb into the otherwise vacant, rear-most train car.
Sierra hadn't meant it to end up the way it did. Well, that seemed to be the way it went, at least. When Ted said Ethan was joining their run this morning, she'd decided against the skimpy short shorts she always wore to turn on Ted. She went back to her nice, conservative sweats. The ones she wore before Ted started running with her. But Ted would have none of that, and when she'd warned she'd be showing off quite a lot for Ethan, Ted just grinned and said "Good."
I could hardly blame her for taking the not-so-subtle cue and leaving her panties behind, too.
I jump as the doors open at the next stop. I realize I'd been spacing out, thinking of this girl I'd never met, my own body substituted for hers in my mind as Ted sneakily slipped the shorts off her butt right as she knocked on Ethan's front door, baring her tight little ass to the world. She slipped it back on before getting caught, but that couldn't stop the two guys from oogling her butt moments later when she climbed up into the truck in those skimpy running shorts. In my real world, no one gets on at this stop, of course, and I let my mind wander back to Sierra.
Her ride to the park was some fun, in and of itself. Nothing like her ride home later, for sure. Ted's hand sat casually on her bare thigh, her squeezed in-between the two of them. I can even picture her sneaking sidelong glances at the plain erections in both mens' running shorts. Two tents, pitched for her.
They made it to the park without too much more to note. Sierra followed Ethan out the driver's side, just to give him a look down the ample cleavage in her tight tank top, her only attire besides the shoes, socks and shorts. As they stretched, Ethan couldn't take his eyes off her, and I'm certain Ted noticed it. Sierra, judging by Ted's hint this morning, didn't hold back at letting them both sneak peeks.
I bite my lip, wrigling in my seat as I come up to another stop. Okay, if there's no one here either, I'm doing it. I'm hiking up the skirt. The door opens, chimes, pauses, shuts with a hiss.
I said I'd do it, so I'll do it. Only as good as my word, right? I lift my butt off the seat, reaching down past the bottom of my rain coat and grabbing the edge of my skirt. I tug it up and quickly push the coat back in place as I sit down.
I did it. I'm actually sitting on the train with my skirt hiked up around my waist. Sure, even if someone was here, they'd have no idea, but, now, if I want to, I can just reach into that pocket pocket and slide my fingers along my pink cotton panties...
They started running next. Down the main path, not through the woods yet. That comes later. She's the one who brought it up, about the shorts. She told Ethan she was planning on wearing sweats, but Ted likes her shorts so much, he convinced her to wear them. Ted said he just wanted to make her show off. Ethan said the shorts are certainly worth showing off, as he ran along behind her.
That's when it really started. Well, that's when the next bit started. Sierra asked Ted what was so exciting about the boring old shorts, and he said the shorts themselves weren't quite exactly what he was looking at. So she hooked her thumbs in the back of her shorts, slipping them down as she jogged along, giving Ethan a full view of the taut, smooth buns they were really looking at.
Another stop, and my car is still empty. I slide a hand into the side of my coat, around the crumpled mess of my skirt, finding my bare thigh. I slide my fingers along, their touch sending a tingle into me as I make it to the soft cloth between my thighs. I can see her as she ran through the park, two guys with obvious erections running along with her. I see when the bikers came up, passing, Sierra trying to cover herself up, Ted grabbing her hand, leaving her exposed as they pass. I sigh softly as my fingers run ever so gently along my burning hot slit, teasing myself through the thin cloth, aching for more.
The train stops, the door hisses open, but no one's going to get on. My mind is on Sierra and the shorts.
Ethan had asked to see more, and Ted had no problem with that. Sierra's a beautiful girl, and the prospect of seeing her bare it all right there in the park was incredible. Even when it was just the two of them, he'd never gotten her to go this far. But Sierra wanted a trade. They'd get to see more when she got to.
Ted hadn't even hesitated, tugging down the front of his shorts, his stiff cock swaying just out of beat with his running as he hooked the loose waistband under his balls. Sierra grinned, grasping at it, slowing down to a walk. It's Ethan's turn, she said, falling between the two of them, sliding her hand along Ted's shaft.
