This is my first story – I hope you like it. I’ve enjoyed this site for a long time now and never had the guts to try my hand at writing. Time to put my head above the parapet. Please give me feedback – good and bad gratefully received!
We are all creatures of habit. We may not realise it but we are. We buy the same coffee. We watch the same channels. We tell the same old stories. And like water, we take the quickest route, the easiest route. We all do it.
Commuters exhibit this indisputable fact the most. Every day, the same path is trodden on the way to and from work. Every second counts. Every extra step is a step wasted, so why take it? We find the path of least resistance and stick to it like glue. Every saving is treasured and coveted, our own little “Fuck you” to the drudgery of getting to and from the office. The savings add up to more time at home. They count.
Those of us that commute by train also have secrets. Trade secrets that are worth far more any other. They are secrets that we hold close to our hearts, never to be shared with anyone, especially not our fellow travellers. They are secrets that every commuter would take to their grave. They hold the key to a bearable journey, maybe even a (whisper it) comfy journey. Commuting is a “dog eat dog” competition. Only the fittest survive. That is why you don’t share your secrets with anyone.
Why am I telling you this? Allow me to explain. My name is Mark, and I’m a lawyer. I’m 27, and I enjoy my life. I’ve worked hard. Getting into law school was no cake walk but I rose to the challenge and 9 years later here I am. I enjoyed my time at university and looking back I wouldn’t have done things differently. I worked hard and played hard. I graduated with good grades and dived into the big bad world, quickly getting a job in a big law firm in London. They worked us like dogs but I enjoyed the pressure and I survived the pummelling they gave us. I now have a good job and a comfortable life.
I enjoy my job. It’s challenging and I get to meet interesting people. I specialise in Intellectual Property law, which basically means that I get to work with companies and help them make money with their “next big thing”. This means I have to travel quite a bit but I don’t mind. As I said, the people are usually interesting and I like helping them. It’s always nice to listen to someone enthusiastically describe what they have invented. Their passion inspires me and is always great to hear.
One of my regular clients is a large Japanese tech firm. I have done a lot of work with them over the last couple of years, helping them to bring their products to Europe. They started to take up more and more of my time last year and it soon became apparent that I would need to go to Japan for a few months to help them with a couple of new products that they were bringing to market. I didn’t mind. I’m single, no kids and I love sushi. They were willing to pay for me to go and live in Tokyo for a few months. That was a win in my eyes.
I had been to Tokyo to meet this client a couple of times before so I was reasonably comfortable with the place. To be fair, “comfortable” does not do justice to my feelings about the place. I fucking love Tokyo. Tokyo is off the scale. Tokyo is mad, exciting, crazy and infuriating. I cant get enough of the place. Over 37 million people live there. It is a maze of tiny streets, skyscrapers, concrete and beauty. As a foreigner you will never understand it. Don’t even try. Just embrace the crazy and enjoy.
Knowing that I was going to be there for a few months at least, I insisted on staying in an apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I love a nice hotel but there comes a time when you just want to sit on a sofa with a piece of toast and not have to go down 20 floors to the restaurant. So the good people at my clients head office found me a furnished apartment close to the centre and several weeks later I found myself unpacking my suitcase and settling in, excited to finally be a resident of Tokyo.
Now I’m not sure about you, but I always take pleasure from using the public transport in a foreign city. It makes me feel like a local, like I have blended in and the fact remains that it is usually the quickest and easiest way to travel in a big city. This is particularly the case in Tokyo. The roads are rammed at rush hour. I used to think that London was bad but Tokyo takes congestion to another level. I tried taking a taxi on the first morning that I headed into the office but it was a disaster. We queued the entire was and I immediately vowed never to do it again. So I hit the public transport.
Japan is famed for its trains. They are like the Swiss only with added Swiss. My commute to work took me on the Yamanote Line, a 35km circular line that links all of central Tokyo. It takes in all of the famous districts of Tokyo and is a masterclass in running a train line. Trains arrive every three minutes without fail despite it passing through Shinjuku, the busiest station in the world. This one line carries more passengers per day than the entire London underground. At rush hour, it gets quite busy.
I soon realised that I was more likely to find a relatively quiet carriage by standing in one particular section of the station at which I got on the Yamanote Line. This was my secret, never to be shared with anyone else. Those in the know stood in the same place. We belonged to my club. We shared a bond. We knew where to find space on the train. We would rarely get seats but at least we could stand in relative comfort.
Being a creature of habit and liking to think of myself as one of the “locals”, I quickly got into a routine. I would leave my apartment at roughly the same time each morning and, taking the same route to the station, get approximately the same train every day. Sometimes I would be a little later, sometimes a little earlier, but it quickly got to the point where I started to recognise the same people every morning. They had the same look in their eyes. The look of familiarity, the look of routine. They were creatures of habit like me.
Most were Japanese. Tokyo is not like New York, Paris or London. Tokyo is not diverse. It is full of Japanese people. Foreingers, or “gaijin” as we are called by the Japanese, stood out like a sore thumb. Try as I might, I couldn’t be like the Japanese salary-men and neither could she.
I first saw her in my first week commuting. She was Caucasian, tall (5′ 8″ at a guess) with short dark hair. I guessed that she was about my age. She had beautiful big brown eyes that I wanted to gaze into. I’m not sure that you would call her stunning, but she had a “quality” if you now what I mean? She was obviously here to work. The first time I saw her she wore a dark suit jacket and matching skirt as well as a pair of killer heals that only served to highlight some amazing calves. She was slim and, from my position behind her on the platform, eminently attractive. Her skirt was short and encased what looked like a gorgeous, tight little bottom. The jacket was well tailored and served to highlight her stunning figure. It looked like her carefully wrapped breasts were small. She wasn’t slutty, she wasn’t a playboy model with massive tits. She was marriage material, plain and simple. She reminded me of an old girlfriend called Rachel that I’d stupidly let slip through my fingers a couple of years ago. I christened her Rachel there and then. She was my new Rachel. I watched (perved over) Rachel from a distance of several metres and had a pleasant daydream involving her, my desk and minimal clothing for the rest of the journey.
I started to notice her more and more frequently. She was obviously a fellow creature of habit and as a result we often found ourselves standing on the same bit of platform, seeking out the same quiet carriage. I’m not sure if it was friendship or purely my primeval male coding, but I made a point of seeking eye contact with her and on occasion it was returned, sometimes with a smile and a polite “good morning”. In a sea of grey business men, she was my beautiful desert island.
Our train route, as I mentioned earlier, took us through Shinjuku station. If any of you get the chance to travel through Shinjuku, do it because it is an experience. Getting on for 4 million people use its 36 platforms every day. Busy does not do Shinjuku justice. It is a maze. Twelve different lines stop there, emptying their passengers through 200 different exits. To the uninitiated it is carnage. To the initiated, it works and works well, people flowing through it with relative ease. Whenever we stopped there in peak rush hour, a crowd of people would get on the train. What was a relatively quiet carriage suddenly got anything but. Japanese politeness would go out of the window. It was no use fighting, you just had a go with the flow and not worry about who or what you got pressed up against; man, woman, door, window it did not matter. Everyone was in the same boat (or carriage) and everyone just got on with it. The first time it happened it freaked me out but I soon just accepted it as part of my daily routine. I was just glad that I was taller than everyone else and not like the diminutive Japanese women who usually ended up with their face implanted in some sweaty businessman’s armpit.
It was bound to happen one day. As soon as the doors opened at Shinjuku the surge happened as usual. I received my usual jostling and once more went with the flow, moving with the crowd to accommodate our new travelling companions. Not paying attention in particular, I found myself in the corner of the carriage, pressed up against the back of Rachel. She turned round and our eyes locked in mutual sympathy and understanding. She gave me a cute little smile that broke my heart in an instant.
“Sorry about this” I whispered, not willing to forget my Britishness.
“Don’t worry about it” she replied. “Always the same at Shinjuku”. She then turned away from me and went back to her own commuting daydream.
I was lost from that point on. Pure and simple. Try as I might, I tried to move back from her a little to give her some space. I didn’t want her to think that I was some kind of pervert after all. But resistance on the Yamanote Line was and forever will be futile. The swaying of the carriage and the constant pressure from my travelling companions behind me meant that I was pressed up against her back. I tried to move my groin back bit but there was nowhere for it to go to. I could feel my cock pressing against her beautiful little bum, wrapped as it was in her tight suit skirt.
My face was close to the back of her head. She smelled clean in that way that only women can. Blokes can smell nice, but not like women. I could smell her shampoo, I could smell her shower gel, I could smell her perfume. Rachel smelled amazing.
It had to happen. It was inevitable. I couldn’t fight it. Like our train travelling down the line, my cock began to swell. I honestly tried to fight it. I didn’t want to be “that guy on the train who rubs himself against women” but what could I do. I couldn’t move away from her. I couldn’t stop smelling her. I couldn’t stop noticing the cute, fine little hairs on the back of her flawless skin. I couldn’t stop the movement of the train as my cock slid up and down her soft little cheeks, separated by just a few thin layers of fabric. They felt so firm and yet pliant. I have always appreciated a nice, firm bottom and this one ticked all of my boxes. In any other situation, the chance to have had my dick pressed up against such perfection would have been a dream come true. And like any train, once it was in motion, my swelling cock was difficult to stop. I tried thinking about work, I tried thinking about my tax return, I tried thinking about anything, but little Mark was having to much fun against the glorious ass of Rachel. It was a beautiful bum, and the devil inside relished every little second of contact.
I was rock hard in no time.
Now I could try to bluff you, dear reader, by saying that I am blessed in the trouser snake department but I’m not. Distinctly average best describes my little friend but he has done me proud and I’ve only ever had positive feedback from the women who have met him personally. Despite his averageness though, there was no hiding him today. There he was, hard as a rock, pressed against the ass of this glorious woman that I had only spoken to in passing. I was mortified. I shut my eyes and waited for the humiliation to end. My life passed before my eyes. I had visions of the Tokyo police waiting for me at my station, marching me off to stand before a judge, accused of being the biggest pervert ever seen in the Land of the Rising Sun. My career over. My family shamed. Everything gone.
We passed through several stations and eventually the crush died down. I moved back slowly from Rachel’s ass. I stood still, grateful that the immediate humiliation had finished but still hoping that the ground would swallow me up. We pulled into the next station and Rachel readied herself to depart. Finally this thrilling, yet humiliating experience would be over. The doors opened and she turned around. Our eyes met. Her lips, so kissable, were slightly apart. Was she going to punch me, slap me or kiss me?
She did none of the above. She just turned and left. I watched her walk down the platform and out of my life, taking her perfect little buns with her.
“Ah well” I thought to myself. “It was nice while it lasted”. I went back to daydreaming about her ass and said a quick little prayer to the God of Perverts everywhere that she wouldn’t have me arrested.
And so it was with slight trepidation that I walked onto the platform of my local station the next morning. I half expected to see a Japanese SWAT team waiting for me but they weren’t there. I had considered moving to a different part of the platform as part of a cunning plan to avoid deportation, but in the end I decided to throw fait to the wind and in any case I couldn’t bare the thought of standing in what would inevitably be a busier carriage, so I went and stood in my usual spot. A bit of me was relieved that she wasn’t there and I wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of apologising for being a sex pest, but deep down, a bigger part of me was gutted that she wasn’t there.
And then I saw her. Walking down the platform like she was walking on to a yacht. She looked stunning. Minimal make-up and an elegant, shortish dress that fitted her like a glove. Then there were those heels. They were back. They made her strut and I loved them.
She looked into my eyes without a hint of recognition before turning away. She stood in front of me, her back to me. What did it mean? I had no idea. Had she forgiven me? Had she even noticed my cock against her butt? Or was she that used to it on the Tokyo rail network that she had just brushed it off as another day, another pervert? A thousand thoughts crashed through my mind in one go. I had no idea what it meant. Our train was pulling into the station. I had no idea what to do. Should I apologise for molesting her? Should I move to another part of the train?
And then she turned her head and stared into my eyes. Time stood still. My world froze. I couldn’t hear a thing. I was lost in her eyes. Her big, brown beautiful eyes, fringed with the prettiest eye lashes I had ever seen, gazed into mine. Her lips were parted slightly again and I thought I could detect a slight smile. She didn’t say a word. I was lost.
All of a sudden my joined the real world again. I was suddenly aware of the train stopping in front of us. She turned back towards the train, then gave me a second glance with a definite smile this time. She turned away again as the doors started to open. I knew I had to follow her. The doors opened and as she moved to get on the train I made sure that I was right behind her, determined not to let some fat business man in a cheap suite steal the object of my desires. She walked into the carriage and stood in the far corner again. I stood behind her once more, waiting to see if she would turn around and give me the chance to talk to her. But she didn’t, she just stood there facing away from me.
The doors closed behind us and the train started to move. I stood close to her, not touching, but close enough to smell her. She was stood still, staring out of the window in that way that only a regular commuter can – seeing but not seeing. Then I realised what she was looking at. She could see my reflection in the window. Our eyes met once more. It felt like she was gazing into my sole.
Then she did it. She took a small step back. She was still close to the door in the corner of the carriage, still facing away from me, but it was a conscious step back. It wasn’t a stagger or a falter. It was a definite choice. That beautiful, round, pert, peachy little bum pressed into my groin. My eyes widened and my lips parte in shock and I saw her give the faintest, cutest, dirtiest little smile in the reflection. She wanted this, she wanted to feel me against her. Her dress was made from what felt like silk and was loose and floaty. I could clearly feel two perfect little ass cheaks pressing into my groin, seaking out my cock, looking for a travel companion.
I gave the slightest of groans as I pushed back. The blood immediately rushed to my shaft. This felt so naughty, so wrong and yet so good. The previous day had been and accident (your honour). This was deliberate. This was two consenting adults enjoying each others bodies in public and never had I felt more alive. I glanced around, seeing if anyone else was watching, but we were tucked away in the corner and everyone else was absorbed in their only daily grind.
I looked back into her eyes in her reflection. One of my hands was raised, holding onto the strap dangling from the carriage roof. The other dropped to her waist and I pulled her back towards me. The feel of her hip beneath my hand was amazing. I could feel the thin strap of her panties wrapped around her hard, smooth waist. She pulled her head back slightly and I buried my head in her hair, inhaling her scent. I heard her let out a small gasp as my cock reached its full length. Without the guilt and embarrassment of the previous day, my body relaxed and allowed itself to do what it was supposed. I had never been this hard before. I quickly rearranged by shaft in my underwear to give it the freedom that it needed. I could feel every ridge and vein. I couldn’t help but give it a quick stroke.
Our eyes were still locked together and Rachel gave another quick smile as she felt my hand rearranging myself. I felt her hand move around her back and cover mine, Then she pulled it away from my cock and placed it back on her hip. Her hand then returned around her back and slowly she grasped my shaft. I saw her eyes widen slightly as her mouth opened a little, her delicate little tongue curling slightly around her top lip. He hand gripped my length through my trousers and slowly she started to move it up and down. I couldn’t help but stare into her eyes, my pupils dilating as this beautiful young woman slowly stroked my dick whilst we travelled on a commuter train.
To be honest, she could have stopped there and I would have been a happy boy. Granted I would have been a horny boy until I could have relieved my self at the office, but still, its not everyday that a pretty girl strokes your cock on the way to work. However, it quickly became apparent that Rachel was not going to be happy with a quick, clothed grope. With amazing coordination, her hand found the zip on my trousers and slowly lowered it. I nervously glanced around again to see if anyone could see what was happening but again no-one was watching. Mindful of an impending arrest, I undid the buttons on my suit jacket and opened it slightly to that the sides of the jacket came around her waist, giving us a degree of privacy.
I looked down and couldn’t help but smile as she reached inside my underwear and her small, slender fingers slowly encased my dick. She started to try to slide her hand up and down my length but my underwear got in the way. She leant her head back against my shoulder and leaned her head in towards my ear.
“Pull it out for me” she whispered.
What was I to do? The law abiding, sensible, upstanding citizen in me cried out “Don’t do it! Back away now while you still have a job, while you still have a life, while you still have no criminal record.” The evil on my shoulder screamed “Do it!”
The devil won.
I let go of her hip and reached down. She quickly pulled her hand from out of my trousers and I reached inside, grasping my rock hard cock and desperately trying to free it from the confines of my underwear. After much wiggling and straining and managed to fish it out. This was no mean feat given how hard I was. I looked up and smiled as I saw her desperately trying not to laugh. I started to giggle and could feel myself starting to crack up at the absurdity of the situation before she quickly took hold of my dick once again.
I stopped laughing immediately. My lips parted and my nostrils flared as she slowly started to slide her hand up and down my length. It took every ounce of will power not to cum straight away. I was so turned on. Her hands were small , her fingers soft yet strong. She gently squeezed my shaft before releasing it slightly to resume its gentle up and down movement. She slowly slid her hand to the tip, smearing the precum that dripped from my end over my bulging head before gently sliding back down to the base, pulling the skin gently and expertly. My dick felt like it was on fire. I could feel every vein bulge with excitement. Every ridge felt like it was alive as her delicate digits worked their magic.
I suddenly remembered that I had a free hand and it was resting on the hip of a beautiful woman as she slowly gave me a handjob on a crowded train. What to do? What to do? There was only one thing to do. I traced my hand down her thigh My hand was squeezed between her and the rear wall of the compartment, shielded from prying eyes by her body and my jacket. I followed her thighs until I reached the bottom of her dress. Her bare skin was so soft. It was cool to the touch and felt like silk. I was in heaven. I grabbed the hem and slowly lifted. She gave a little giggle. I eyes remained locked as I slowly raised the fabric higher and higher until I could feel the underside of her butt cheeks. Those beautiful little buns that I had gazed at on the platform were finally mine. I cupped one of her cheeks in the palm of my hand. It fitted perfectly. It was an ass made for squeezing, for playing with, for enjoying. Two perfectly formed little balls of perfectness. Pliant, eminently squeezable, eminently fuckable. Her skin was cool to the touch and so, so smooth. I was in heaven.
Not only was her ass perfect, it was gift wrapped for me as well. She wore a tiny little black lace thong that disappeared between her butt cheeks. I have always had a thing for panties. I love them all. cotton ones, silk ones, lace ones, big ones, small ones. I don’t know what it is about them. Maybe the promise of what lies within. Rachel’s were just perfect. A tiny strip of fabric and served only to highlight her perfect bum. I couldn’t help myself as I explored her ass with my hand. I had to look down and see my prize. I couldn’t have been happier. I traced the thin strip of fabric down between her cheeks, running my finger down and then back up. I then let the fabric of her dress fall over her hand so that it and my dick were hidden under the fabric. She quickly let go of my cock before pushing her ass backwards, trapping my member between those tight buns. I puled her body against mine, relishing the feel of my cock as it rested in its temporary home. I could happily have stayed there. She moved forwards again slightly and returned her hand to its previous location.
While Rachel slowly stroked my cock, her head resting on my shoulder, I brought my free hand back round to her hip. I carried on exploring, tracing the flimsy strip of fabric as it wrapped around her. Once I had passed her hip bone, I found the tiny bit of lace that covered her treasures. The material felt soft and expensive. I slowly cupped her mound under her dress. She moaned slightly as my fingers pressed into her. I extended my middle finger slightly, pressing it into her slit. I could feel her dampness all ready. She had been enjoying herself. I gently curled my finger, pressing the fabric between her lips. Her lips felt engorged, and puffy. I so desperately wanted to see them but it was not an option given our current situation. I slowly worked my finger back and forth across her panty covered slit. She moaned again and pressed herself into my hand. We both needed this.
I lifted my hand slightly and slowly slid it into her underwear. She was shaved, her clit already hard as my fingers ran over it. I gently caught it between my middle and forefinger, gently teasing it and pulling back the protective hood. I started to gently squeeze it and pull it, milking it like a little cock. She ground her ass backwards as I started to work her nub. she let out a little sigh. Her hand started to speed up slightly, her hips matching the movement of my fingers. I slid my finger down between her lips, sliding along her slit and forcing her puffy lips aside. I found the entrance to her pussy and slowly ran my finger around the rim. She was open and wet, ready to touch, needing to be touched.
That’s when she did it. Still holding my shaft, she moved slightly away from me before spreading her legs slightly. She forced my dick downwards until it was horizontal before slowly sliding backwards, my dick pressed between her thighs, forcing itself upwards against her wetness. I was clamped between her thighs. They felt cool and muscular. She then brought her hand back round to the front and reached between her legs, pulling my hand away from her pussy. She reached between her legs and pulled my cock up between her lips, my shaft pressed into the length of her slit, my head leaking precum like I’ve never known and resting against her clit. She then covered the tip of my cock with her sexy little panties and pressed it against her little nub.
I was in heaven. I could feel my shaft being encased with her soft, wet and engorged lips. Her juices dripped from her cunt, soaking my shaft while she gently massaged her clit through her panties with my tip. The combination of the lace, her wetness, her clit and her fingers was incredible. I found myself grabbing onto her hip and gently pulling her backwards and forwards. It felt like nothing before. The naughtiness of the situation was unbearable. It felt so wrong to be doing this in pubic, yet it felt so right.
The sensations on my cock were incredible. I could feel her lips spread round the sides of my shaft. Clamped between her legs, it felt like they were trying to grip me, trying to milk me. Her pussy felt like silk. It was so wet. Her thick cream coated me. It was like warm honey, dripping around me as I was clamped in place. And then there was my tip. Pressed between her soft lace panties and her hard little clit. Her hand held my shaft firmly in place. She was making little movements back and forth with her hips all the time, everyone like a miniature electric shock through my rigid dick.
That was when we pulled into Shinjuku. Luckily everyone always got on the trains on the same side, so we still had a degree of privacy (all relative I know). However, the sudden rush of people was as strong as ever. Clamped between her legs, I was forced to let go of my overhead handhold as we were pushed further into the corner. I instinctively grabbed both of Rachel’s hips and held her against me. She braced herself against the wall with her hands. I couldn’t move anywhere even if I had wanted to. Bodies pressed into my back. Rachel pressed into my front. My cock clamped against her core.
The doors closed and the train started to move. Faster and faster it went. Every bump and jolt forced my cock to slide between Rachel’s lips. Every vibration was a vibration through us, through our bodies, through our sex. The feeling was intense. Neither of us could move. Trapped in our embrace, we could do nothing but enjoy the ride. The carriage was getting hotter. I could feel her bum against my groin as she pressed my cock hard against herself. I couldn’t help myself and started to squeeze my butt cheeks, desperate to maximise the sensations. I could feel myself getting closer to the edge. I didn’t care. I didn’t mind who saw. My cock was pressed between the lips of a gorgeous woman and that was all the mattered. I could sense that Rachel was getting closer to her own peak. She started clenching her own butt cheeks and pressed harder on the tip of my cock, mashing it against her clit, my precum drenching the front of her panties. I couldn’t take much more.
“I’m going to cum” I whispered in her ear. She just started making little mewing noises and kept up the pressure.
“I’m going to cum” I whispered again, this time with more urgency as my balls started their familiar tingle.
“I know!” she whispered back. “Me too”. She pushed her hand hard against the head of my cock and started to tremble slightly. She let out a quiet groan and I felt her body tense.
That was all it took. I let out a groan as I felt the cum boil in my balls. I thrust forwards and the cum exploded from my tip, erupting inside her panties. I could feel the thick ropes of my cream rushing up my shaft, my head swelling slightly with each ejaculation. She kept her hand over her panties, pooling the wetness. Her pussy spasmed around my dick and I could feel her own juices dripping around my length. I felt spent.
I lost all sense of time. My dick felt so sensitive. It started to deflate slightly and reality started to reappear in my mind. I had just cum hard inside the panties of a stranger on a packed train. I looked around. No-one was paying us any attention. Rachel still had her head against my shoulder and her hand pressed against her panties. As I started to pull my dick back I could feel her massaging my cum into her pussy, rubbing it into her slit before rearranging her panties.
I pulled my groin back a bit and looked down. My cock was covered in a mixture of both of our juices. I’ve got to admit it looked great. I quickly wiped it with my fingers and sucked them clean, desperate for a taste of this gorgeous woman. She didn’t let me down. I had a new favourite meal. I carefully tucked my dick back inside my underwear and tidies everything away.
Rachel finished rearranging herself and tuned her head towards mine. She had that naughty smile again.
“Hi, I’m …” I started.
“Don’t tell me” she quickly replied.
I stared back into her eyes with a slightly quizzical look.
“OK” was all I could think to reply.
And that is how we left it that day. I thought I would never see her again. She was forever going to be my stranger on the train. She got off at her station and walked away without looking back. I watched her go. I watched that perfect bum walk out of my life.
Hate to see you go. Love to watch you leave.
I went to work with a smile on my face and a slightly damp patch on my pants. I didn’t care. I had happy dreams that night.
I forgot though that we are all creatures of habit. I saw her 3 days later at the station. She walked up to me and stood in front of me again on the platform while we waited for the train. As it pulled in, she tuned around and gave me that cheeky, dirty little look again and I knew I was going to be in for another good dream.