Subway

Seven or eight years ago I was living with my boyfriend Mark in Boston. We were young and crazy, especially crazy about each other. Although we are no longer a couple, I still have all sorts of fond memories from that period. We were both little lust bunnies for whom sex was as important as eating and sleeping, and nearly as important as breathing. Every room in the apartment and nearly every piece of furniture we had was eventually "broken in", as we called it. Our little escapades extended to such places as locked bathrooms during parties at the houses of friends, in darkened theaters, and even a memorable tryst in an elevator that we stopped between floors. It was almost a game to us, and we definitely pushed the limits of propriety. 1

It was during that wild period that we were involved in a little incident that I can recall as if it happened yesterday. Neither of us had a car, so we did the bulk of our traveling around town by public transportation. This had its pluses and minuses, but with money as tight as it was, it was our only real option, so we did what we had to do. One hot sunny Saturday in July we boarded the Green Line to take us across town into Brookline, a nearby town that is basically part of Boston. That was fine, except that it was almost noontime and there was a Red Sox game at Fenway Park that day. The subway train that we were on soon got packed with people, and I do mean packed. It was if everyone who was going to the game was on our car. By the time it reached capacity, we were in the middle of the car, surrounded by the masses of humanity wearing Red Sox paraphernalia. I was in a good mood and, knowing that it was a temporary situation, didn't mind the tight squeeze so much. I just made peace with the circumstances and stayed tight with my boyfriend.2

There were metal loops attached to the ceiling, and Mark held one with his left hand and I held one with my right. That meant that we were facing each other, always a pleasant situation for us. The rumble of the subway and what seemed like a hundred conversations each trying to make itself heard over the other kept the two of us quiet. After a few minutes like that, I felt Mark getting a little naughty. I could feel his free right hand on my ass, petting it a little bit on my shorts. It was subtle and sweet, and I accepted the welcome diversion from the otherwise uncomfortable predicament. Then I felt his hand get slightly bolder, squeezing my cheeks with some authority. I liked how it felt, but it still made me glance around me to see who else could see us. I was glad to note that no one near us could see anything at all. That was when I could feel Mark's hand on the bare skin of my thighs sliding up to seam of my shorts. I jumped at the touch, pleasantly surprised at what was happening. I looked up at Mark, and he looked at me. I gave him a salacious smile, and he smiled back. That was when I let go of the metal loop I was holding and wrapped both my arms around him for support. It all seemed so sexy. His free hand kept stroking my ass and my thighs, and it was really doing a job on me. I was getting turned on right there on the train, and I was loving it.3

I was wondering how far he would take things, so when I felt his fingers sliding under the legs of my shorts, I spread my feet farther apart, allowing him much better access. He made the most of it too, sliding a finger along the crotch of my panties. I couldn't help but moan quietly at the touch and hug him more tightly. I was getting terribly aroused at this point, so I knew he could feel the wetness through the material. It didn't take much effort for him to hook a finger under a seam of the panties and start teasing my pussy. I hugged him tighter as one finger and then another found my hole. Because of the angle, he couldn't get too far inside, but he didn't have to. I just thrilled at what I was feeling, never wanting it to end. When a fingertip grazed my clit, I nearly cried out, but I managed to stifle it by biting my lip. If anyone could have seen my face they would have seen someone who looked to be in extreme pain, probably never suspecting that it was pleasure that was overwhelming me. Standing up as I was, I could feel my juices starting to drip down my thighs, and that made me wonder how a girl like me got to be so naughty. When he touched my clit again, I wondered if he was going to make me come right there on the train, packed in with all those people. I could feel an orgasm building inside me, and I knew that if it happened, that I wouldn't be able to keep myself quiet, but at that point I didn't care who heard anything.4

It was at that point that the train came to the Fenway Park stop, and the crowd started shifting to get off. I could still feel Mark's fingers inside me, and I looked up at him to see what his intentions might be at that point, but he was looking through the windows at the crowd exiting the train. Then I noticed something that hit me with a sudden jolt. Mark's left hand was holding the metal loop, but his right was clutching the pole next to him. I jumped with the shock of recognition of what was happening and tried to grab whoever's hand was touching me, but the hand immediately pulled away when I jumped. I tried to look behind me spun to see who it might be, but the mob was moving en masse through the doors, and I knew that I'd never figure it out. Mark knew that something had happened and asked me what was wrong. I stared at him speechless for a moment, and finally muttered, "Nothing." When he pressed the point, I snapped at him to drop it, and we didn't say anything for the rest of the trip.5

Only later that night did I tell him what happened. He got angry about it; not at me, but at what someone did to me, his girlfriend. When I told him the details, the sting of violation started fading and it became something more abstract and arousing. I could tell that he had no idea what was happening on the train. When I noticed that he was getting hard at my story it struck me that I should have known that something was amiss simply from the fact that I couldn't feel an erection pressing against me when I was hugging him. The best part of the whole incident was that we had some fantastic sex that night and for the next few nights, spurred on by what happened on the subway. And for me it remains a powerful memory that fills my fantasies to this day.6