I work in Lower Manhattan’s financial district, and every day I take the 4 or 5 express train to and from work, from 125th Street to Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall station. After work, both trains are often delayed, so when I’m feeling impatient, I sometimes take the 6 line instead. However, it’s always overcrowded and takes longer because of the additional stops.
Although I hold a clerical position, wearing a dress or skirt is my default attire, as it aligns with the professional standards and culture of my workplace. To stay comfortable during my commute, I keep a clean pair of tennis shoes that I change into before and after work. I also have a stylish backpack that’s more like a purse, but it’s technically considered a backpack since I wear it across my back or on one shoulder. I like to keep one ear pod in my left ear during my commute to make the ride more bearable, if not enjoyable. Over the years, I've accumulated an extensive assortment of playlists to match my mood, depending on the kind of day I've had.
One Tuesday, for whatever reason, I ended up taking the 5:15 PM 6 train home after work. It was especially crowded, standing room only, so I made my way deep into the car and found a spot to hold onto the pole with my right hand as the train started moving. My mind drifted into autopilot as I got lost in my music, tuning out my surroundings. Several minutes passed; the train stopped at Canal Street and continued on. As I continued enjoying my music, I felt a body press up against my left side next to me when the train gave a sudden jerk. I dismissed it as normal and completely ignored the person's presence. I kept in my own world.
A few moments later, another typical jolt came, and I felt the same person push up against me again but with a more deliberate thrust. It got my attention this time, but I was very discreet not to make it obvious. I glanced at him peripherally, he was a masculine-looking man, possibly in his forties or early fifties. He seemed to be quite muscular from what I could tell, wearing like he could be a high-powered executive, a sleek suit with a satchel hung over his shoulder. Although I didn't look him directly in the eyes, he gave a confident, arrogant smile, which I didn't acknowledge. I kept to myself, returning to my own world.
Moments later, another jolt, less invasive this time, came with a burst of speed from the train. He subtly pressed into me again, this time remaining, holding himself against me. I was taken aback for a moment and didn’t know how to respond: should I edge away or remain where I am? I found myself somewhat attracted to him and flattered, yet at the same time, I wanted to feel insulted by his brazen demeanor.
It wasn't until I felt him shift slightly sideways that I became aware of the stiff firmness between his legs. My heart skipped a beat, and I inhaled unexpected in surprise. Although I remained calm and kept my composure, or so I thought, he must have picked up on my body movement or my ever-so-slight reaction. I don't know, but my heart was pounding faster. As I tried to discreetly glance in his direction through my peripheral vision, I saw his suppressed smile.
Then came another jolt from the train, and he took it as another opportunity to push up against me and shift with more decisiveness. I felt the full stiffness of his cock against my hip. The jolt was an indication that the train was beginning to descend in speed, readying for the next stop. I don't know why, but as the train moved, I gripped the pole firmly with my right hand and pushed into him to brace against the counter-momentum of the train. He was clearly enjoying this, judging by the way I could feel him leaning into my hip. Feeling self-conscious, I nonchalantly scanned around me to see if anyone was watching us, but no one seemed to notice. He didn't seem to care if anyone was watching. I could feel his stare as he shifted, pressing his cock against me and moving with the train's rhythm, trying not to draw attention to anyone around us.
“14 Street and Union Square” is announced as the next stop. As the train comes to a halt and the doors open, the predictable madness of passenger exchange begins. More people step in than step out, making space an even scarcer commodity. He shifts his right grip from the overhead bar to the pole beside me, bringing his hand alongside above mine. As if claiming me, our bodies rest flush against each other. Adjusting to the dense space, I make a subtle shift, turning almost to face him directly. The doors close, followed by the sudden jerk of the train beginning its movement. Our bodies knock together, my face ends up right against his right pec, nearly touching him from the initial motion. Taking a slight inward breath, I catch his masculine scent. Unexpectedly, my heart skips a beat from the excitement. With the train's accelerating speed, our bodies press against each other as he continues to push and rub his cock against my hip with the movement of the train.
With our bodies almost facing each other, concealing our frontal sides from view, I feel his open left hand pressing against the front of my skirt. His touch startles me, catching my breath in my throat as my lips part involuntarily. I should pull back, create distance and show my objection, but my craving for him to continue refuses to let me move. Instead, I find myself leaning ever so slightly into him. He notices my grip on the pole tighten, and a smirk emerges, ever so subtle. Nervously, I lift my eyes waiting to see if he continues. His eyes lock onto mine, dark with quiet confidence, challenging me to look away first. Every rational thought tells me to pull away, but something inside surrenders to him, I look down. His lower hand moves, just a fraction, enough to make me inhale sharply as my body abruptly shudders without warning. Again, I lean into his hand with more eagerness, giving him obvious and unspoken permission to continue. He answers my overture by squeezing, applying more pressure. My heart throbs in my chest from the exhilaration, sending shivers through my body as I accept the forbidden feeling of being touched, being caressed in public.
I find myself welcoming the flickering, uneven tunnel lighting and the train's jolting as they conceal our movements. His hand pushes firmly against the fabric of my skirt, pressing my panties into me. The line of inappropriateness has already blurred beneath his masculine touch. I'm incapable of moving as his hand and fingers explore with purpose. Though his cock remains pressed against me, but his focus has shifted, centered entirely on the evidence of my arousal. His manipulative touch triggers a shuddering spasm. An unintentional squeal escapes me before I can stop it, then I quickly and embarrassingly clear my throat, hoping no one noticed. I nervously scan my line of sight without moving my head, no one seems to have noticed, or even cares, as he continues probing me.
The train begins its descent for the next station stop. “Grand Central and 42 Street,” is announced. My breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps that I desperately try to quiet. My knees weaken as I silently beg for more pressure, for every subtle shift of his hand, for whatever he's willing to give, each secret movement hidden by the train's relentless sway. Then the sudden screech of the train coming to a stop. The doors open, and his hand eases the pressure. Once more, the predictable madness of passenger exchange begins. Space expands for a moment, then contracts. We stay as we are, against each other, yet without embracing.
The doors close, followed by the jolt of the train's movement. The escalation is momentarily lost, but soon returns as his grip and probing intensify. I impulsively push into him, desperate for him to resume. My head leans forward, forehead resting on his shoulder as my breathing becomes faster and erratic. I surrender completely to his grasp, his shifting fingers, provoking, inducing, drawing me toward the edge of a climax. The pressure builds as the train accelerates; I can feel my pulse throbbing where his fingers press. I part my thighs ever so slightly without changing my stance, and he presses harder into me. My teeth sink into my lower lip, muffling my moans. My forehead presses harder into his shoulder as I gasp silently into the fabric of his coat, as a sudden release of juices gush out of me. I'm left trembling, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps against his shoulder. For a moment, I don't move as the euphoric orgasm slowly subsides. I take a deep, exhausted and conclusive breath. He presses his fingers against me, but my body jerks slightly back, indicating I'm sexually depleted. I give a silent "no more" with my breath, and he accommodates by pulling his hand back.
I slowly lift my head from his shoulder, keeping my eyes lowered. The world begins to seep back in. A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I realize where I am. The rumble of the train, the murmur of passenger voices, the flicker of tunnel lights through half-closed eyes. I become aware of the music playing in my earbud, which didn't seem to exist moments ago. I straighten my posture slowly, smoothing the fabric of my skirt with a trembling hand where his hand had just been. Another deep breath. A quick tuck of my hair. I don't look at him. Feeling extremely awkward, I stand next to him, refusing to make eye contact, but I can detect the smug smirk on his face. Confused about how to react or feel about what just happened, I remain utterly uncomfortable and mortified, yet strangely sexually content.
For the next several long minutes, the awkwardness between us thickens. Finally, the train begins its descent, the familiar screech of brakes echoing. "59 Street," is announced, and shortly thereafter, I notice him readying himself to move. Is he getting off here? Is he just moving away from me?
A sudden panic overwhelms me, yet I can't bring myself to make eye contact or get a single word out of my mouth.
The train comes to a stop, and the doors open. As he begins to move, I finally muster enough courage to look up at him. He gives me a wink, turns, and walks toward the exit. I finally manage get a word out, but it's too late. A sudden feeling of regret sweeps over me. Why didn't I say or do something? I watch him step off the train and walk away with purpose. I keep hoping he looks back at me, but he doesn’t.
The doors close, followed by the all-too-familiar jolt of the train’s movement. He comes back in to view for a split second as the train passes him, walking but again makes no effort to look towards my direction. I’m left dumbfounded, thinking of everything that just happened. It seemed almost unreal, feeling ashamed and embarrassed, yet somewhat privileged by the attention and gratification I just received by an attractive and masculine man. A random and erotic moment. For the first time in a long time, I felt used, desired, and I loved every second of it.
