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Their eyes had met at the turnstile….his fare ticket had been returned with a “See Attendant” notice, and his blush was very noticeable against his blonde beard. Rachael smiled sympathetically as he moved aside and let her through.

Sexy eyes she thought to herself as she walked to the escalator descending to the train platform. Hearing the train doors open, she ran quickly down the slowly moving stairway and arrived just in time to see the doors closing and the train pulling away. “Nutz!” she mumbled under her breath, and moved to her accustomed queue position, where she opened her novel.

The ill-fated mad dash to the train platform had made her warm and she removed her long coat, dropping her book in the process. As she bent over to pick it up, her rear end bumped against the person in back of her, and she swiftly straightened, turning to apologize. Now it was her turn to blush as she saw that same blonde beard and sexy eyes she had encountered upstairs at the turnstile. She had noticed him many times before, and had imagined he had watched her a few times as well, although she didn’t think it was true.

She averted her eyes quickly, not knowing what his thoughts were, but she couldn’t restrain her own. She tried to go back to her book, but couldn’t concentrate. The stranger had stepped forward to the side to look down the tunnel for an oncoming train, and she could see the slight bulge in his suit pants in spite of the jacket he held over his arm. He stepped back in place behind her, and she went back to her story.

Soon, she felt something push gently up against her ass, which felt much like a briefcase. He must have made a mistake, she thought, and mentally forgave him. Shifting from one foot to the other, she couldn’t help fantasizing about this stranger behind her. She had noticed he was about her age, of average height and weight; the kind of teddy bear she would love to hold and suckle. His face was that average-guy good looking, with strong cheekbones (what she could see beneath his beard), and smiling blue eyes.

Well, what am I doing day-dreaming about him” she asked herself. After all, he probably wouldn’t even LOOK at me. She unobtrusively tugged at her slightly snug blouse, smoothing it over her breasts, and rounded hips.

She had been uncomfortable all day, noticing how this blouse accentuated her large breasts, and how the new brassier she was wearing held them up and allowed them to bounce MUCH too much when she walked.

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Third of the “Deb’s Tails” series. There are more in the works; Deb has told me several others, I just need to find the time to write them down.

My wife, Deborah, often tells me “bedtime stories” of her sexual adventures. Some of them I know are true, either because I was there, or because she has corroborative evidence. Some of them, I’m sure, are fictional. Others, I’m just not sure about.

I don’t know about the truth of this one. It sounds like the kind of thing she’d do if she were in the right mood, but since I wasn’t there, I can’t vouch for it.

If you’ve ever heard anything about the New York subways, you probably think you know what they’re like. Noisy, obnoxious, and crowded. Most of the time that’s true, but as any New Yorker will tell you — once you get past his pride in living in the least livable city in the country — that some trains can be practically empty if you pick the right times and routes. Many evenings, around 10 or 11, even the busiest routes start emptying out, and by midnight it’s sometimes possible to have a car to yourself.

In all fairness to New York, though, it does have it’s good points. The Circle Line is one of them. It’s a mini-cruise around Manhattan (it is an island, you know!) Any place that’s got a decent-sized body of water has something similar. Seattle has trips around Puget Sound, New Orleans has riverboats running along the river. The Circle Line cruise is really beautiful at night with the city all lit up, but in the middle of winter, you can — and probably will — freeze your ass off.

Deb and I often have separate social lives — an inevitable reaction to work-related gatherings where people sit around and talk shop. What usually happened in New York was that I’d stay home and play with my techie-toys while she was out partying with her colleagues, or she’d stay home with a book while I was out cheering for the Mets. Naturally, that meant a few solo subway rides for both of us, often at somewhat odd hours.

This is the story of one of those trips as Deb told it to me (albeit, with my title).

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It had been months since I had seen him. Three months to be exact, three months of loneliness and frustration of the emotional and sexual kind. The intensely sexual kind. Three months of becoming literally a mistress of the art of masturbation and self-pleasuring. Three months of experience which I couldn’t wait to share with Brian.

These were the thoughts that filtered through the sleepiness of my jet-lagged brain as I stared out the tiny fiberglass window of the plane. Not that there was anything to see but the fluffy whiteness of clouds, so there was no view to distract me from my contemplation. And considering the reunion soon to be at hand, I could think of little else but finally ending three months worth of grueling celibacy.

I checked my watch again. Still an hour and a half remaining in the flight. With a sigh I lowered the window shade and nestled my head against the pillow I had stuffed between the seat and the wall of the airplane. My gritty eyelids inexorably lowered, and I dozed…

He stroked my face and gazed into my eyes as I squirmed underneath him. I gazed back earnestly, all of the need and desire mirrored blatantly there for him to see. But still he teased me. Lifting his hips, he probed my pussy with just his cock head, and in my sensitized condition, could almost feel the slit slide like a custom-made groove over my clit. I arched against him further, seeking to suck him inside of me, needing the penetration so badly I thought I would die.

Although I knew he wanted it almost as badly as I did, he still withheld. “Just a second,” he said, “Need to make sure you’re wet enough.” Then his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth aggressively. My eyes were closed, my head swam, but still I could feel his hand snake down between our two sweating bodies, inch into my damp muff, and slide a finger slowly over my clit and down between the cleft of my slick pussy lips. He pushed his finger inside of me, up to his bottom knuckle, and wiggled it around, testing the waters, as his knuckles continued to grind into my hot mound.

“Oh God…” I moaned shakily, “Please…” His hand left my soaking cunt, and slithered up between our torsos, leaving a slimy trail up my abdomen. He stopped to cup one heavy breast, and roughly pinched my nipple. I gasped.

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The phone rang, and Jennifer jumped. Darlene, her roommate, gave her an annoyed look and picked up the phone. “Hello? Yeah, this is Darlene. Huh? Oh, sure…I have it right here.” Flashing Jennifer another annoyed look, she picked up her math assignment sheet and started to read an assignment from it.

Jenny hugged her pillow close to her, listening to the phone conversation and trying to take refuge in its relative normalcy. It wasn’t him. Thank god it wasn’t him. She pressed her cheek into the soft fabric of the pillow, and held it tightly. Her eyes stared to the side, her mind fighting once again to deny what had happened to her before. It seemed like a dream now, but Jennifer knew it had not been a dream. She could not wake up from this nightmare.

She heard the click as Darlene hung up, and heard her roommate stand. She didn’t look, but she knew the expression that was on Darlene’s face; it was Darlene’s exasperation look, with her eyebrows jagged and her lips pursed together tightly. Jennifer had been seeing Darlene’s exasperation look quite a bit lately.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on, Jennifer?” Darlene snapped. “I can see being startled by the phone, once, maybe twice, but EVERY FUCKING TIME? What’s gotten into you? You’re so jumpy lately… and you won’t tell me why! What’s wrong, Jennifer?”

Jennifer was silent for a moment. Once again, she was tempted to just blurt out the whole story, about Mark, about his powers, what he had done to her. And once again, she stopped herself. For one, she didn’t want to draw anyone into this beside herself. And for another…who would believe her? Jenny barely believed it herself.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she mumbled.

“What?!? The hell, nothing’s wrong! You’ve completely weirded out on me, Jen! You stay in the room all day, moping around, staring into space. You won’t answer the phone anymore, and it seems to scare you to death whenever it rings…you won’t talk to anyone, you don’t go out anymore…you can’t tell me nothing’s wrong. Give me some credit, Jennifer!”

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At thirteen, Angie was not very different from all the other eighth graders. The other girls were approaching sexual maturity, some faster than others. Certainly they were all sex conscious, with budding breasts, spreading hips, a new growth of pretty pubic curls. A few of the girls were already full-busted, though these few were at a distinct disadvantage–their thrusting titties gave the look of being fully sexually aware, and mostly, they were by no means ready for any kind of mature behavior. The boys of the same age were a couple of years behind the girls in development.

That summer, after school was through, Angie was sent to Wisconsin to visit her aunt. This was more or less an annual affair, having happened at least twice before. Those summers, Angie’s mother had been overseas on business, and auntie’s house was a convenient place to park her where she would not get into any trouble. Well, not much anyway.

Aunt Millie was a new divorcee. She had a new boyfriend that she was trying to catch, so she frankly had not much time to think about a niece–who she did not really want around, anyway. She was out most evenings, leaving Angie to “play” with the other kids on the street. The kids were a couple of years older, but Angie’s nicely developing figure gave her the look of a 15 year old, and certainly she did know what it was all about even if she had not really done anything yet.

The girl next door, Sally McIvers, was a year older than Angie. She too knew what it was all about, and had some experience at wild petting parties. Usually she was the youngest one at the party. One of the boys on the street suggested that Angie be invited to the next party, and Sally thought this was a good idea. Angie was invited, was excited at the prospect of being with the older kids. Sally told her that there would be plenty of smooching and some petting, but nothing too strong.

Angie had been kissed a few times and once, her cousin had sneaked up behind her and took each of her breasts in his hands, nicely squeezing them as she squealed. Later, a day or two later, while kissing her, he had forced his hand down the back of her slacks, inside her panties, and there squeezed each of those delicious rounds. He did not try to get a finger into her pussy–though later that evening, while alone in bed, she thought about the episode with great excitement, ran her hands across her naked mound. But now afraid, she stopped.

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