It has been a year since my unexpected, acrimonious, and vicious decree absolute. He threw away twelve years for a nineteen-year-old pop tart. He said I was too straight-laced, uptight, and a prude.
It has been nine months since my new year's resolutions included; getting back to the gym, cutting down on the wine, travelling more, and definitely no men. I have stuck to them all religiously.
It has been five weeks since I beat my goal weight. With a 34-22-34 figure, I now have a smaller waist than when I went to university. Five days a week after work, an hour a day in the gym has become my routine.
It has been three weeks since I found a new thrill to brighten my days.
“Have you ever been, you know, touched when the underground is crowded?” Karina, my gym buddy came out with the most random things sometimes.
“No, never, have you?”
“Yes, you should try it. You’ve not had a man since your divorce and you should have some fun.”
She was right about my celibate status, and I was fed up with it after a year. “What happened to you?”
“If I’m feeling frisky or pissed off with hubby I wear my tightest workout pants on the tube and hang a glove out of the waistband. It’s a code to say you are open to being touched. It does not always work, but often does. Search TikTok or even Google, you’ll see.”
We parted outside the gym, heading home in different directions. The conversation went around in my head for the next week. I found myself eyeing up commuters, fantasising about them touching me. I Googled and she was right, there were even arrangements being made for people to offer themselves. I decided I would try it the next time I left the gym and hoped to attract some male attention.
I joined the Friday rush hour in my gym kit. Lycra leggings and a cropped top under a baggy sweatshirt. A pair of bright red gloves hanging from the waistband looked incongruous. September on the underground was hot and sweaty.
My journey was five stops from the gym to home. I was strap-hanging and could not even turn around. The carriage pulled to a stop and the next wave of bodies crushed in. The train screeched and groaned away and then I felt it.
At first, I thought it was just part of the bumping and swaying, bodies bracing against the movement. Someone cupped one cheek of my bum for a second. I twisted my head around to a sea of faces all staring into nothing. I scanned everyone, with no clue to the culprit. It must have been my imagination.
The train ground to a halt with the unintelligible tannoy crackling. I felt the hand again for a couple of seconds. The inky black tunnel turned grimy glass windows into obscure mirrors. Turning my head I scanned both sides and counted a dozen people who could reach me. Bodies were packed so closely that I could not look down for a hand or arm.
The hand returned, cupping and squeezing. I was staring at reflections that gave me no clue. That brief touch was the first quasi-sexual contact I had had in a year. At the next stop, the hand was gone. There were no more touches before I exited and jogged the short distance home.
The following three times, I travelled home from the gym in my kit with a dangling glove. The tube was equally crowded but there was no intimate touching. The fourth time I travelled I jostled into the most crowded spaces, still no touching. I was beginning to worry it had been a fluke.
On Friday afternoon, I left the gym wearing the identical outfit from the first touching journey. I’d decided this would be the last time I tried. I found myself strap hanging at the end of a carriage surrounded by commuters. The first touch was fleeting and strangely thrilling as the train pulled away. I scanned the window reflections without showing any reaction but saw nothing.
Before the first stop, I felt the touch four more times, each time a little bolder than before. We were halfway to the second stop before the hand returned and it held one cheek until the carriage began to judder and slow. As we stopped I felt the fingers slip briefly between the top of my thighs before they were gone. I was left alone for the rest of the journey.
I was tempted to ride the tube over the weekend. I lusted after that anonymous touch that I found so wrong and yet thrilling. I purchased a pair of butt-shaper leggings, not that my tiny butt needed any shaping. They would be uncomfortably embarrassing for working out as the centre seam pulled indecently higher between my bum cheeks.
Trying them on in the privacy of my home, knickers were obvious under them. The rear accentuated my non-existent bum perfectly, the front was spoiled by my pubes. For the first time in over a year, I went completely bald down there.
I changed into my new leggings before leaving the gym on Monday, pulling my baggy sweatshirt low to hide the camel toe. I was carried onto the carriage by the crush of bodies. I reached up to the straps, thrilled that my sweatshirt would also ride up. I found myself deeper in the carriage after the first stop. As we braced against each other and the carriage accelerated I felt a firm hand on the small of my back.
As the carriage jerked up to speed, the hand ratcheted down in tantalising contacts until I felt fingers curled deliciously into the crack of my bum. The carriage lurched as if the driver had fleetingly tested the brakes and the hand released. Without thinking I tried to push myself back but could not move. With the next jolt the hand returned and I involuntarily smiled. I was relishing this game and the illicit tingles it triggered.
As the bodies rocked in the carriage, the hand nudged lower. I knew the owner must be close, but did not look to see. I felt fingers between my thighs, pressing upwards, gently massaging the material against me. I closed my eyes and focused on the fingers tantalisingly close to my pussy and ass. The next jolt of the carriage moved the fingers momentarily away only to delve deeper on their return.
I shuffled my feet apart almost treading on someone. Something else nudged against my bum, poking firmly. The fingers remained and the prodding became stronger, insistent. The hand withdrew and the prodding stopped as the carriage screeched to a halt. I was left alone again. I wanted to rub myself, in public, to continue the thrill I had felt. I knew my pussy was wet with anticipation this time.
Two stops later I jogged home. As I stripped to shower I noticed the back of my leggings had a definite snail trail where I had been prodded. Whoever was behind me had pushed his bare cock against me! I was more determined to ride in my gym kit after today. I put the leggings through the wash.
For three days I was trembling with anticipation as I boarded the tube home. I did not feel any touch and my only gratification was the tight leggings caressing my pussy as I jogged home.
Waiting on the platform on Friday I became aware of a couple also in gym kit. She was petite with a tight trim figure. Long black hair framed a very pretty pale face with piercing blue eyes. He looked like a body-builder, tall with cropped blonde hair. His biceps were bigger than her thighs, his thighs were bigger than her waist. She was just wearing workout gear, neon green leggings with fingerless gloves tucked in and a dark mottled top. He was in soft grey sweatpants and a too tight tee shirt.
“Good pants,” she said in a soft accent as she moved a step closer. “They look very sex.”
They made me think of Bond villains.
“Thanks, they are new.” I didn’t know what to say.
“I like,” she said and smiled.
Girls are not my thing but I had to admit she was beautiful.
The train arrived and he stepped in front of me.
“Please,” she indicated to me to go ahead of her. He walked into the carriage like a human bulldozer, turned and stopped. I turned my back on him. She was standing directly in front of me smiling.
“Ugo is good for making space, no?”
I nodded, I wished I had a Ugo sometimes to clear a way through obstinate commuters. I grabbed a strap to secure myself as the doors were closing. Ugo put a huge hand on her shoulder and we set off. Almost immediately the train halted, and people bumped into each other. Ugo put his hand on my side and kept me upright.
He did not remove his hand as the carriage set off again. I hoped Ugo and his friend would get off soon as I did not think anyone would risk touching me with him there. We were a minute into the journey when I felt something brushing the front of both legs at mid-thigh, moving gently up and down like fingertips. I was staring out over her shoulder but aware she was looking directly at me.
The touch exhilarated me. I hoped whoever was doing it avoided her. I guessed Ugo would be physically possessive. The fingers traced up to the crease of my groin, then up to my hip and back down. I closed my eyes to concentrate. The pressure of the touch increased particularly across my pubic bone. Lower down, the pressure moved the flesh of my pussy and I just stopped myself gasping aloud.
The carriage slowed and stopped but the touch persisted. Ugo’s hand pulled me to him slightly, she stayed very close in front. The doors closed and we set off again. One of the hands twisted and cupped my pussy, kneading the material into me. I was getting turned on, the touch was exquisite. I felt a hand snake up under my sweatshirt, under my workout top, and rest on one boob. Fingers tweaked and rolled my nipple which responded easily.
The hand massaging my pussy slid up and found the top of my leggings, unable to slither inside. I pulled open the front with my free hand as if in a dream and felt deft fingers circle my pussy. I opened my eyes and was relieved to see no one was watching. She was beaming at me. I closed my eyes again and gave myself over to the sensations. The fingers were dancing in and out and around my clit. The hand in my top was tweaking both my nipples in turn.
The carriage stopped again and people jostled about and I did not care. Fingers were playing inside me and Ugo’s hand gripped me tighter. My legs felt weak as I murmured and came shuddering and shaking with pleasure.
Midway to the next stop, she whispered in my ear, “Come home with us. Ugo wants to fuck you and I watch and join.” Her hand slid out of my leggings and she slowly licked her fingers clean. The previous ten minutes had been the most erotic I had ever known, but I’m not into girls and never have been. As the carriage ground to a halt, she took my hand and led me out in a daze with Ugo following.
Their place was surprisingly spacious and well-kept, and the bed was clean and comfortable. I didn’t get home until Saturday afternoon, and that was just to get a change of clothes.
I really like girls.
I really like risky public sex.
I really like threesomes too.
