On the Train it's Plain to See
She sits; shoulders fall, exhaling; head back, eyes down, seeing from-into-through the corner; the person there. A dull background sound of the train on the tracks and a sudden crack at the switch rails brings it all to the fore with a jolt of mortal terror. Everyone stirs and settles down, eyes glazed over, avoiding any chance eye contact. Compartments fill and empty. Somedays it's way too full. She's pressed tight against unfamiliar bodies. The scent of sweat and hair oil piercing her perception to become the only point. Her arm brushes soft chocolate skin. The softest skin. She sits; he stands. There's room enough to be considerate but his dick is in her face. She sat on the train, looking around her at the people out the corner of her eye. Her eyes would linger on the people who had their eyes down or were looking elsewhere, unable to notice her watching them. In confined spaces, statistics have a funny way of making themselves apparent. Even the invisible wo...
