This story is based on an event which happened to me many years ago.
Soon after I left school, at 18, I got a job working in a newspaper office in Fleet Street -- in the days when the world's news was published there - and made my way there daily in the tube.
It was always crowded in the rush hours and I was always pushed up against the other passengers. By the time the train got to my station in the morning there was never as seat and in the evening again I always stood for most of the journey.
One evening I found myself pressed up against a well-built coloured woman, about 20 or so years my senior. Somehow my hand had got trapped between her and another passenger and was pressing against her firm buttock.
After a minute or two like this she turned to me and stretched to speak into my ear as the noise in the carriage was to loud for whispered conversation.
"Young man," she said, "You have two options, either you remove your hand from my arse or you leave it there and stay on the train to my stop and come home with me."
I looked her in the eye and gave her arse a slight squeeze by way of a reply and she smiled.
Gradually the train emptied as we passed from station to station and soon there was no excuse to be pressed up against her. My station came and went and I asked her how I would get off the train as my ticket wouldn't be valid any further alone the line. She told me that her station was almost at the end of the track and generally there wasn't a ticket collector at the barrier.
I had never bee as far along the line as this when we got to her stop and as we left I told her that I should call home and let my parents know that I wouldn't be back at my usual time and that they shouldn't worry as I was meeting a friend. Well, it was almost the truth.
I walked the short way to her house with my arm around her shoulders and I could feel her firm body beneath the layers of warm clothing that she wore as it was late November and quite cold out.
We got to her house, a typical three bedroomed, suburban semi, and she ushered me in to her living room and told me that she was going to hang up her coat and put on the kettle for a cup of tea.
It all seemed so domesticated and comfortable and I felt not in the least bit nervous.
I heard her moving about in the kitchen, filling the kettle, lighting the gas, the rattle of teacups, and then she called me to come in to the kitchen.
What I saw was definitely my cup of tea!
She stood before me, her tan skin set off by a white bra and panties that did little to hide her full, firm body.