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Claire takes the 378 train home everyday home from work. Forty-two minutes from start to stop. Forty-two minutes to read, or text, or rest, play games on her phone.

The train starts out crowded, often with many standing. She doesn’t mind male or female, young or old sitting next to her. What she does mind is a chatter-box.

A tall business woman plops herself down next to her this day. Says nothing. She has a fashionable backpack and a large purse with her. The backpack ends up on the floor. The purse falls into her lap.

The train pulls away from the station, and like many on the train, the tall woman seemingly doses off within moments. And within moments her hands slips out from under her purse and falls between them, mostly touching her own thigh.

Claire has seen this and experienced this a hundred times. Fellow commuter falls asleep, fellow commuter unwittingly spreads their body and their possessions around them. She could write a book. From toys to jackets, from hands to feet, from books to phones. Sleeping people spread.

In her experience people rarely contract inward. They expand. Possessions get pushed outward. Bodies relax and stretch-out.

She is not fully opposed to it. She’s a bit on the lonely side and she’s been affection starved for years.

With a slight move of her hips she moves her leg until the woman’s knuckles are just barely touching her jeans. She knows from experience if she moves too fast this will all come to nothing.

But she also knows that if she moves slowly, very slowly, something might come of it. slowly, very, very slowly she moves her thigh a bit more and more. Small incremental movements.

She does this to make more and more contact with her thigh and the woman’s hand. She knows from past experience that woman might keep her and where it is, wedged softly between each of theirs outer thighs.

She’s successful. She also know that the woman might wake up at any moment, realize poker oyna they’re touching and retract into her own personal space. But so far, so good.

She puts her hand on her own thigh. This is the next step. To slowly slide her hand down the outside of her thigh until it touches the other woman’s hand. Well, the outside of her hand and the thumb and forefinger of the other woman.

She moves slowly. Very, very, very slowly.

What takes minutes is successful. Their hands are touching. Her thigh is touching the back of her hand. Two points of contact. She feels it. Human touch. A bit forced and manipulated, but human contact nonetheless.

She closes her eyes ready to dose herself. She’s done this before. She needs it. She likes it. If the other woman wakes up she wont presume anything but normal dosing mistakes.

She doses. Blissfully. Sweetly.

Some two stops later she is awakened when the woman moves. She presumes its her stop and is about to get up, for she moves her hand and thigh. And she feels the sadness of the loss of human contact.

But the woman doesn’t get up. Claire hasn’t moved her own hand. It is still on her the outside of her own thigh. She feels the woman’s thigh touch her hand again. She smiles inwardly.

Then, inexplicably she feels the woman’s hand touch hers, just as Claire had touched hers before. Same touch just reversed.

In her years of riding the train she count on one hand the times that subtle touching was reciprocated in any way.

But it seems to be happening. She wonders if the other woman woke up, discovered she was touching the woman next to her, and chose for whatever reason to continue it. But she also wonders if the woman is just like her. She seeks human contact and had little idea they’d been touching.

Her thought pattern and her questions are interrupted. Surprisingly.

Because she feels the other woman’s hand seemingly seek to hold her hand. She can’t tell. canlı poker oyna Their hands are gently wedged between their two thighs. There not much room to hold hands But she still feels more than just a light touch.

Then surprisingly the other woman moves again. Her thigh moves away, but this time it is clear. The woman is now holding Claire’s hand.

Claire feels her heart flutter. She relishes the warmth of her hand. Claire gives absolutely no hint that she is awake. And she presumes the roles are now reversed. The other woman is seeking human contact.

Claire does nothing. She just enjoys the moment.

But the other woman is not done.

Claire feels her hand being slowly lifted and placed, under her purse, on the inside of the woman’s thigh. She feels her thighs come together and squeeze her hand.

In all of Claire’s years of making body contact on the train this, or anything like this, has never happened. Nothing even close to it.

But she finds her hand inside the thighs of woman she has never met. She’s nervous, but she likes it. She’s out of her comfort zones, but she’s not going to change a thing. It is what it is, and whatever it is, she is savoring the human contact.

But the other woman is not done. Claire feels her hand being moved very, very slowly up the inside of thighs.

This assuredly new territory on the train Extreme. Provocative. Dangerous.

But Claire does not stop her. She has boundaries and principles and convictions. But this becoming an outrageous curiosity.

She feels the material of the other woman’s pants. Her thighs are warm. The movement of her hand is extremely slow.

Then she feels the material of crotch. Even warmer.

Slowly her hand moved again. She feels a zipper. She feels her heart racing. Where in creation is this going? Where does this woman get such nerve? Does she have no fear?

Still moving. So slowly. She feels the softness of underwear. Impulsively internet casino she nearly jerked her hand back. It’s become intimate. It had been going that way. But it suddenly arrived. The arrival surprisingly shocked her.

She is touching another woman’s underwear.

She couldn’t restrain her impulsiveness. But she didn’t remove her hand. Instead she impulsively moved her fingers sending message to the woman the hand she was moving was awake.

She felt the other woman get tense. Her hand become momentarily ridged, then loosen up again. No one moved.

Claire moved her fingers again. Just slightly, but intentionally over her underwear. Feeling it. She liked it. Women are intimate at heart. Slow. And intimate. Discreet. Slow. And intimate.

Claire loved men. But men are not discreet, slow, or intimate in a way a woman is.

The woman moved again. She moved Clair’s hand millimeters to the top of her underwear. Without waiting or hesitating or thinking about or worrying about it, Claire deftly slipped her hand under the woman’s underwear.

Pubic hair. Rich, thick, pubic hair. Sexy, feminine pubic hair. Soft, silky pubic hair. Claire could of kept her hand right where it was for long moments. The feeling was other-worldly. It’d been years since she had touched, been with a woman, in such a way.

But she didn’t keep her hand there. She knew what they both wanted, regardless of risk. Even if just momentarily. Even if just a touch. Even if just barely. She knew what they wanted.

She slid her hand and found a well swollen and well moistened clitoris. And like a woman, she was slow and patient, enjoying the moment, the sheer craziness and dear intimacy of the moment.

A few movements. A few deep plunges.

The train slowed and the woman slowly pulled Clair’s hand out. Under her purse she could feel the woman zip her pants and button the button. Claire kept her eyes closed and felt a soft kiss on her cheek. Then something slide into her hand. A business card.

The train come to a stop and the woman stood and left. When the train moved on Claire opened her eyes and looked at the business card.

Rhonda Zilvowsky, Sex Therapist

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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