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From: Altan <altan1@bigfoot.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2001 19:25:00 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} The Girl on the Train
Date: Tue, 26 Jun 2001 02:10:04 -0400
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author
unless explicitly indicated (but see the statement
at the bottom). Author Altan.
Non-commercial re-posts to ASSM or similar venues are
allowed provided copyright information remains on the
re-posted story. Please do not delete the copyright
information. No commercial reprints are authorized.

The author appreciates constructive criticism and
feedback. altan1@bigfoot.com.

WARNINGS: This story contains material of a erotic
nature. The story depicts consensual erotic activity
between men and women. If you live in a backward
society, like the United States (where breast feeding
a baby in public is considered an act of moral
turpitude) or Afghanistan, in which it is illegal for
you to know about sex or read sexual materials
immediately delete this from your computer and scourge
yourself with a whip for having any sexual thoughts.
If you are under the age of 18 please pretend you
don't know about sex and continue to get each other
pregnant in increasing numbers so that we continue to
have young single mothers raising children. Don't
learn about safe sex or contraception as these are
tools of the devil. Please do not masturbate while
reading this story in public places as this can excite
the authorities into rash conduct and result in grave
consequences for you.

------------------------------------------------------------

The Girl on the Train
by Altan

It is a warm summer day and I am taking the train to
Philadelphia, meeting a client. I'm making this trip every
month now, but this time will be different, a two-day trip.
I'm not really looking forward to this; I'd rather be at
home tonight. But the client insisted on a two-day session,
and according to my boss it is cheaper to get a hotel than
to drive up twice.

As usual, I'm far too early, so I put my put down my carrying
case with the laptop (I put my change of shirt and underwear
in there so that I don't need to carry more luggage around)
and start looking around. I love watching people, trying to
imagine what they are doing. I always keep an eye out for
attractive women, following them with my eyes inconspicuously.
Sometimes I get lucky and I find one who is not wearing a
bra. Seeing the shape and movement of unconstrained breasts
is one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

Today things are slow. The platform is almost deserted. There
is a business man over at the other end, yapping in his
cellphone. A family in standard (and very decent) vacation
outfit of T-shirt and shorts is studying the timetable. And
beyond me, at the very end of the platform, is a woman in
business suit. She must be sweatting like crazy with all those
layers, standing in the hot sun.

I loose myself thinking about business attire, wondering how
it came into being and why it is so uncomfortable. I'm
wearing a business suit myself, with white shirt and tie.
However, I have my jacket folded over my carrying bag, and
still I'm hot. I'm hoping the train will come soon.

I don't see her coming out of the station building, but when
I look around, there she is. My heart almost skips a beat
when I see what she is wearing. Not because of the long white
skirt, but because of her T-shirt. It is white, and the
bottom half of it is an open mesh, with thin strands and
dime-size holes, showing off her brown belly.

While I'm trying not to look, she wanders over to my side of
the platform. Getting a closer look confirms what I couldn't
believe at first--the open part of her shirt starts right
at her breasts, leaving their undersides exposed. Obviously
she is not wearing anything underneath.

I try to control my pounding heart when the train rumbles
into the station. I pick up my carrying case when she passes
me and make sure I'm right behind her when the train comes to
a stop. We let a man and a woman come out of the train and
then she starts to pick up her suitcase, which she had been
pulling behind her on its wheels.

"Can I help you with that?" I ask quickly.

She looks at me and smiles. "Yes, please," she says with a
soft voice.

I pick up her suitcase and carry it into the train. "Thank
you!" she whispers.

Inside, the train is very full, but there is one double seat
empty--probably just vacated by the pair who left the train.
If she would just pick that seat, I could sit down next to
her and maybe manage to get an even better look at her body!

I can hardly believe my luck when she does stop at the double
seat. Without thinking I ask, "Do you want your suitcase in
the coatrack?" and, after putting it up, sit down next to her.

"Thank you," she says again with a smile and then starts
looking out of the window.

                              * * *

I know I am staring, but it doesn't matter since she is looking
the other way. Her dark skin and shoulder-length black hair
constrast perfectly with the pure white clothes. Of course,
my eyes are drawn like magic to the smooth curves of soft
flesh that are visible through her T-shirt.

But before I can think of something to say, the train begins
to move and we are leaving the station. When the corridore is
empty, she turns  and starts to get up.

"Excuse me please," she says and I move my legs to let her
pass. Her back passes just in front of me as she squeezes
past. But then she turns around and, standing on her toes,
reaches up to her suitcase. As she does this, her T-shirt
moves up further, exposing even more of her breasts. I catch
myself staring right at her nipples!

At that moment, I decide that I have nothing to loose by being
bold. I don't know what she is up to, but she must know how
much she is showing. Maybe she is purposefully showing off,
or she just doesn't care. Either way, I don't think she would
be insulted if I let her know I that I enjoy the show.

"I like the way you dress," I say when she sits down again,
now with a book she had taken from her suitcase. She just gives
me one of her smiles as anwer, which I take as encouragement.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Philadelphia..."

"So am I," I say. "I'm John. Nice to meet you!"

She smiles again, but does not answer. Instead, she turns to
her book and starts reading. I'm not quite sure what to make of
that. In the end, I decide she must be afraid to get too close.

All the way to Philadelphia, I keep thinking about this young
woman and how I would love to see more of her. I try to start a
conversation a couple of times, and she is polite and smiles a
lot, but she clearly does not want to talk. So I just glance at
her while she reads her book.

I nestle myself in the right-hand side of the chair, half turned
to the left, so I can easily look past her through the window.
My eyes spend most of the time on her, though, rather than on the
scenery. At one point, when I've been looking at the shape of
her breast through the fabric for over a minute, trying to burn
the sight in my memory, I look up and see her looking straight
at me. Before I can stammer something, though, she smiles again,
raises her arms and stretches. I can't help my eyes dropping
down, looking at the T-shirt that has moved up, and at her now
completely exposed breasts. But when I look up, she is engulfed
in her book again.

Then the train pulls into 30th Street Station. I take her
suitcase down for her and she puts her book away. I have less
than a minute left before she will walk away, and I'll never
see her again. My last chance, I'll have to be completely
blunt. But at least she can't hide in her book anymore.

"Do you have anything planned for tonight?" I ask.

"Why?"

I gather all my courage.

"I would like to take you out," I say.

She looks at me while we exit the train. I pick up her suitcase
and carry it up the stairs.

"There is this place I would like to go," she says, "but it is
frightfully expensive."

My heart is pounding in my throat. Is this real? I can
hardly believe it.

"I'll make you a deal," I say. "If you dress more exciting
than this, I'll take you anywhere in town you want to go."

"I won't go to bed with you," she warns.

Now it is my turn to smile. "I just want to look," I say.
"Just look."

By now we have arrived at the taxi stand in front of the
station. She smiles one last time. "Be right here at seven
tonight," she says and walks away towards the entrance of
the parking garage.

                            * * *

The meetings are endless today. Actually, they are not
worse than usual, but I just can't keep focused. Here is
this girl that definitely flashed her breasts to me, and
tonight she is going to dress "more exciting." I'm wondering
what that is going to look like. Or maybe she misunderstood
me, and she is going to wear one of these so-called sexy
outfits that hide more than they reveal. She never asked
me what I find exciting...

Finally, five o'clock arrives and I hurry to the hotel. I
take a long shower and try to relax. I don't want to be all
shaking and sweatty when I meet her. I put on my clean
shirt (and send the other one to the hotel's overnight
laundry). No jacket or tie--I don't want to be too formal.
No underwear either. If she enjoys seeing the effect she
has on me, she's welcome to it.

I get to the taxy stop a few minutes before seven, looking
all around me. She isn't there yet. Doubt starts creaping
into my mind--maybe she wasn't serious. I force myself to
calm down, looking at the taxis arriving, trying to see if
she is in one of them.

Then, just as I'm trying to peer into the latest arrival,
she walks past me. At least, I think it must be her, wearing
a long white dress. I feel my heart sinking, this doesn't
look very exciting. Admittedly, the thin dress emphasizes
her beautiful figure, but it reveals much less than the
T-shirt she wore in the train.

"Hi," I say. She turns around and I almost faint.

When she turns, I see that what she is wearing is more like
three quarters of a dress--the right-most quarter is missing.
There is only a tiny golden chain holding the front and back
parts together around her waist. For the rest the dress looks
as if it is cut off vertically from her ankle all the way to
her shoulder. Half her left leg is bare, and this continues
all the way up. Somehow the nipple of her left breast is
covered, but that is exactly as far as the dress goes.

She must have said something but I wasn't paying attention.
"Sorry?" I ask

"Is this exciting enough?" she repeats in her soft voice, and
I know she must be smiling, but I can't keep my eyes from her
body.

"Never mind, I guess it is," she continues and when I finally
drag my eyes upward, I see her looking at the buldge in my
pants. I almost forgot about that.

She turns around and hails a cab. I have never seen a cab
driver getting out of his car so quickly to open the door.
She whispers something to him and slides in. I follow her,
cursing the fact that I'm now sitting on her dressed side.

She leans back into the seat and seems to relax. I can't think
of anything better to say than asking her how she is doing,
and she just smiles in response. She obviously isn't a big
talker, which is fine with me.

The fifteen minute drive passes in silence, then we stop in
front of an old mansion in what must be one of the best
neighborhoods of Philadelphia. The cab driver jumps out
again to help her out of the car, then I give him a 20 dollar
bill. I feel like spending tonight.

I make sure I'm on her left side when we walk up to the
front door. Before I can ring the bell, the door is opened
and a Victorian butler bows for us. "Mr. and Mrs. Jones?"
he asks.

Before I can say anything, she nods and we are shown into a
large dining room. There are half a dozen tables, some of
them occupied. We are led to one of the free tables set for
two. Rather than opposite eachother, the two places at the
table are laid out side by side. I get a feeling this is
not accident.

I hold the right-most chair for her, then sit down myself.
"You look totally amazing," I say.

"I thought you might like this," she answers. "I always
wanted to wear this dress for someone who appreciates it."

We get the menu, but it doesn't have any prices. I guess
you don't want to know anyway. I don't care, not tonight.
If my boss doesn't approve it as business expense, he can
take it out of my pay. I just look at the beautiful woman
next to me and realize I have no idea who she is.

"Here we are, and I don't even know your name," I start.

She smiles again. "Names are not important," she says.
"What would you want to call me?"

I suddenly think I understand. No names, nothing personal.
Just tonight, and then only the memory will be left. I
guess that is the best way, since we probably have nothing
in common but the enjoyment of her body. I decide not to
ask any more personal questions.

"Celeste," I answer. "You are just heavenly!"

She smiles as usual and turns back to study the menu. I
pretend to do the same, meanwhile glancing at her. Except
for the small golden chain, her side is completely bare.
I follow the curve of her leg up, over her hips, to her
chest. The fabric of her dress is hugging the top of her
breast, but its side is completely uncovered. Then Celeste
leans forward a little bit and her dress comes away from
her skin. Now, her breast is hanging there completely
exposed--not only for me, but for everyone else in the room
to see.

I order something from the meny at random, I have hardly
looked at it. While we are waiting for the food, I ask her
to tell me about this place. She tells me it is supposedly
the best place to eat in town, the place where the rich
and famous go. Then she asks me to excuse her for a moment.

I watch her as she walks across the room. Heads turn when
she passes a table, and I see more than one man glancing
in the direction of the restrooms when she is gone.

When she comes back and sits down, the front of her dress
which had been hanging between her legs now slips off her
right leg. She keeps her legs slightly apart, allowing me
to see between them. I think back to what I said this
morning. "Just looking." This is going to be harder than
I thought.

We eat, we drink a little bit--only one glass of wine for
Celeste, she clearly wants to keep her wits. I don't drink
more than two glasses myself, I want to remember this
evening for the rest of my life.

When we are finished, I pay with the company credit card.
"We will walk a bit," she says, and I can only nod.

She takes my hand and we walk a block down the street. Then
she stops and looks me in the eyes.

"You still only want to look?" she askes in a low voice.

"That is what I promised, but it is getting more and more
difficult."

She laughs and pulls me towards her. Her hands slide around
my back and she presses her hips to me.

"Wow," is all I can say when I get breath again. Then I kiss
her just as enthusiastically. Meanwhile, my hand reached
inside her dress and is slowly massaging her bottom. She
presses herself more strongly to me.

"Let's go somewhere more public," she whispers. I know it
is not because she is afraid of the dark street, but because
she enjoys making a show of herself.

"The downtown mall doesn't close until midnight," I say.
"How do we get there?"

She takes my hand again and we go into a side street. At
the other side of the block is a major road and Celeste has
no trouble flagging down a cab. Within ten minutes, we are
back in downtown.

The mall is still crowded, and many heads turn when we walk
by. In front of a display window from Saks Fifth Avenue we
stop and draws me close again. I know what she wants, and
pulling her dress aside, start massaging here behind. I
feel her thrembling from the thrill of knowing she is
completely exposed now. We only stop when I see a guard
walking towards us. I quickly drop her dress back into place
and we stroll into the store.

The next time we stop is in front of a game store. The store
is empty except for a clerk, a young guy probably fresh out
of highschool. While Celeste is looking at the display, I
start kissing her neck and softly stroking her belly. While
she pretents to close her eyes, I let my hands move up,
massaging her breasts. I see the eyes of the clerk opening
wide when her left breast becomes free. While continuing to
carress her left breast, I let my right hand go down and
around inside her dress. When I move my hand up to her belly
again, I pull the dress aside. The clerk's mouth now falls
open at the show in front of his story. I'm sure he wont forget
this evening for a long time.

When I stop, Celeste pulls her dress straight, blows a kiss to
the boy (who turns red as a cabbage) and we walk to the food
court. I have no idea what she wants there, since we just had
an excellent meal, but by now I'm ready for anything.

"This will probably get us thrown out," she whispers while we
wait in line. "If I don't see you again, I want to thank you
for a wonderful evening!"

"So have I," I whisper back, and wonder what she possible can
have in mind.

She orders two large icecream and two large sodas. She then
whispers to me, "You carry these. When I sit down, you stumble
and drop it all on me."

The sodas are of the fill-your-own type, and Celeste makes
sure she forgets to put a cap on them. Then she walks over to
a table, and I follow a little bit behind, making a show of
balancing the tray. She sits down and I pretend to bump into
one of the tables. The tray tilts, and I drop it all. One of
the sodas splashes over her chest, the other in her lap, and
the two icecream in-between.

Celeste jumps up, catching the little golden chain on the edge
of the table. The left shoulder strap snaps, then the chain
breaks. This leaves nothing to keep the left side of the dress
up. Meanwhile, I grab some napkins, and try to wipe some of
the icecream off. I manage to push the wet, clinging dress
aside, and the icecream all around her exposed breast.

Two young store employees come over to help. The boy is too
embarrassed to do anything, but the girl brings more napkins.
Celeste starts using them to dry herself, letting her wet
dress fall all the way back. It is now hanging only on her
right shoulder. Suddenly the dress falls from that last shoulder
and she is now standing completely naked in the middle of the
food court, with everyone staring at her. A look in her eyes
shows me the familiar smile and I know she is enjoying every
moment of this.

I suddenly see two security officers coming up, and turn to
warn Celeste. But she isn't there anymore, I can just see
her "fleeing" into the restrooms. Before I can turn to follow
her, the officers are there and I have to explain how this
accident could happen. They do not seem to be very amused,
and are talking about disturbance of the peace, indecent
exposure, and all kinds of other things. I'm wondering how
we can prevent getting arrested.

While I'm talking to the officers, I see Celeste coming out
of the restroom - dressed in a very modest purple summer
dress. She must have had that dress hidden in there all the
time, which means that she must have planned this from the
start. She winks at me and calmly walks towards the exit. When
the female officer goes into the restrooms to search for the
"accused," the restroom is empty and there is nothing left
for them to do.

I tell the people at the food court to throw away the now
ruined evening dress. I only save the little golden chain
that had fallen on the floor as a souvenir. Then I walk
back to my hotel. Tomorrow will be a boring day...

T H E    E N D

------------------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know. I can be
reached by Email at altan1@bigfoot.com. Be sure to use the
word "STORIES" in your subject line, or your Email will be
thrown out with all the junkmail I get!

------------------------------------------------------------

Copyright ©2001 by Altan. All rights reserved.

Current copyright law dictates that this copyright will
last fifty or seventy years after I die. I believe this
is ridiculous. I believe a period of 15 years should be
more than enough for an author to be rewarded for his work.
Therefore, I explicitly release this text into the public
domain as of January 1, 2016.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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