Train Girl Fantasy

It’s so fucking cold in the winter time. Walking to the train station can be a real drag, and waiting for it sucks even more. Today wasn’t so bad though; as I waited below ground for it to pull up, I noticed a girl with a pretty face and a baby blue jacket not to be missed. She seemed a bit shy for she had the brim of her hat pulled down to the top lid of her eyes, and the way she stood was unlike the corporate sheep with the false confidence who stood near us.

I glanced over at her, and she glanced back. Something about her suggested that she was single and looking, but lacking the social outlets that most people use to find a mate; she was no bar girl. When the train pulled in, I walked toward her a bit – just enough to end up on the same car. She came in my direction too, and we entered through the same door. I let her go through first, but did no gentlemanly hand signals for her to proceed. I simply waited. She got on and grabbed a corner seat, so I took the one directly across from her.

She didn’t pull out a book to read and she didn’t get on her cellphone. I wanted to say something, but could come up with no opener. By now I was a pro at riding the train, so asking directions and stops would have been silly and unconvincing. Instead, I tried playing the eye game. Not staring, but glancing periodically to see if she would look back. She didn’t. I checked out her body – it was nice. Not modelesque as she had a bit of curve around her hip area, but nice in a way that seemed comforting. She was obtainable, and that made her more appealing to me. I never hit on the hot women I meet because I assume everyone else does. I’d rather keep my goals realistic, and she was a realistic goal.

Her hair hung straight down from that hat and just past her shoulders. It looked soft – no chemical hair hardeners to get in the way of my fingers massaging her scalp and caressing the length of her hair. And her lips, they were a shade shy of full, with no lipstick to get all over my face. Not that I’d mind, but something attracts me about a natural looking woman. I’d rather see her for who she is, than discover the flaws she paints over when the timing is not right.

Two stops went by and I still had no opener. I looked at her nails. They were short and unpainted. Telling a girl she has nice nails always works as an opener, but not when they are undone. Her shoes told the same story – plain and ordinary. So much for, “nice shoes.”

In some ways, she seemed like a most approachable woman. Hardly unobtainable, nose parallel to the floor. Yet she had no qualities or assets that were conducive to an opening line. Though this girl stood out to me as someone I would like, there was just no particular thing about her or her dress that shouted, “talk to me!”

Another stop came, and she got off. I thought about how our conversation would have gone had I said something. The conversation in my mind was fine, minus the opener. We talked about how cold it was, how we hated riding the train and why urban life was so different than life in the burbs. It was all perfect in my head, and just prior to her last stop I got her number. I would have called her three days later – the 3 day rule is always in effect for a friendly conversation. That would have been followed by another call or two, and one on a Wednesday to set a date for the weekend.

When I got home in the evening, I imagined taking her out to eat – nothing fancy, just a nice dinner with a little wine to perk things up. The conversation was nice, and the food good. Lots of eating and drinking and talking and laughing. After dinner I’d suggest drinks at my place and watching a DVD. I’d put something on that was ok, but not so spectacular that she’d be upset if I made a move in the middle of it. Somewhere halfway through the movie and a mixed drink or two, I’d touch her face. She’d look back and her eyes would tell me to kiss her.

Softly I’d kiss her bare lips, occasionally massaging the top or bottom lip between mine. My hand would find its way to the back of her head as my fingers slid through that long black hair. I’d work the neck and tell her what a good time I was having, without going overboard and freaking her out. From there I rub her tit on the outside of her shirt and gauge her reaction. She doesn’t stop me – I know that, and I reach under her shirt to feel her warm breasts and erect nipples with my moisturized hands.

Moisturized hands; I came into my left palm at this point as my lotion covered right hand was busy squeezing out the last drops of cum. I grabbed a few tissues, cleaned up the mess and went to sleep.