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Tokyo Train

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This is my first story about a very brief and very intense encounter. It was a difficult one to describe, and I would welcome any constructive comments....Anyway....Years ago, I spent two months in Japan. Although I usually avoided riding the train or subway in Tokyo at rush hour, sometimes my schedule required it. One morning, as the last few passengers squeezed in and the train doors closed, I found myself crushed from the side by a businessman in a grey suit carrying something that jabbed me in the side. I turned sideways, facing the right side of the car and grasped the center pole as the train accelerated out of the station.The next three or four minutes--and that's all the incident lasted--were vividly etched in my memory by the subtle events that occurred in that jam-packed space. While speeding along the tracks, the train was constantly rocking from side to side, sometimes a little bit, sometimes a little bit more. Because it was so crowded, this meant that when the train rocked to the right or left, everyone aboard was in a constant state of mild bumping, of making contact and then not making contact, of pressure and then no pressure. An elbow. A handbag. A shoulder. Strands of hair.But my change in position still didn't relieve me of the jab from the businessman (now behind me) when the train rocked left, so I tightened my grip on the pole and stiffened my torso just a bit to lessen my swaying. Predictably, I now felt a bump from the person standing in front of me (also facing to the right), whose upper back nudged against my chest. Focusing my eyes and my attention on this person, I realized that my nose was about six inches from the back of a head covered with jet black hair, crisply parted down the center, which fell straight to the shoulders of a thick, fuzzy pink mohair sweater. It was a she, and she smelled very slightly of conditioner mixed with the delicious aroma or hair that is not yet completely dry. I could feel the warmth of her sweater, sticky in the humidity, and sensed that she was fresh from a recent shower.Because it is not possible to avoid all contact, I decided to hold firm to avoid the businessman's elbow in my back. The bumping from Ms Pink was not unpleasant, and if she didn't want to bump against me, she could always move forward herself. But instead of moving, Ms Pink seemed to feel comfortable enough right where she was, her shoulder blades and upper back bumping my chest when we rocked left (backwards), releasing with no contact for a few moments when we rocked right (forward). Imperceptibly, however, it seemed that each time she made contact, it lasted ever so slightly longer than the previous time and that more and more of her back touched my chest. After four or five or six bumps, it now seemed that her whole back was making contact with my torso, beginning with her upper shoulders and then down toward the small of her back, just above her waist. The contact was very brief, but she seemed to linger so slightly that I could not tell if this was really happening or if it was just a trick that my mind was playing on me.Although I had no reason to think that it was anything other than that she was simply relaxing a bit before the next stop--one traveler bumping against another on a crowded train--the feeling was still very intimate, like a new lover letting go, becoming more comfortable with the increasing contact. It was quite sensual, and I could feel myself beginning to swell, my pulse quicken, my senses sharpening. Where was this going? Was it intentiona? Or just casual? If I got hard and she felt it, I could innocently get caught up in a very embarrassing scenario. I could feel my throat getting dry, my heart beating wildly at the thought that Ms Pink might suddenly turn and scold me with words I could not understand, that I would feel the hot glances and humiliating thoughts of dozens of other passengers, even though I was just minding my own business, trying to avoid being jabbed in the back.I then noticed a second young woman (Ms White) who glanced quickly and subtly in my direction, then quickly away, saying a few brief words in Japanese to Ms Pink. I swallowed. Were they in this together? Were the two of them talking about me, literally right under my nose? What were they saying? My ears burned with curiosity. I looked aside innocently.Suddenly, I felt Ms Pink's bottom hit me, the crack or her ass centered squarely on my left thigh, her right cheek against my groin. I gasped quickly, and the blood pumped hard into my cock. I was instantly erect, and the shaft strained up and sideways against my pants, becoming caught at about 45 degrees downward, with a definite outward reach. I dared not touch myself to raise my penis out of the way, but knew it was vulnerable and exposed. The small space between us had lessened by the distance of my protruding cock.My mind raced. What was she doing? I could feel the heat of her back, the warmth of her whole body radiate through the downy fibers each time the train rocked, and now I was feeling the supple firmness of her bottom. The fabric was thin, like a fine suit material, and I knew what was coming next.With the next bump just seconds away, I had to decide: back up or stay still? I swallowed as my penis throbbed and pulsed. I held still. In truth, I was not bumping against her--she was bumping against me. I had some keys in my pocket. I was reaching for my transit map. I could imagine myself apologizing for any possible misunderstanding. It's very crowded. These things happen. I meant no offense, no harm. Uh huh. Sure.The train rocked again. First, her upper shoulders grazed my chest and then her lower back and then her ass pressed directly against my raging hard-on. In a brief instant, I felt her flesh mold over the contours of my cock, up the base, along the length of the shaft, wrapping over the corona, encircling the head. There could be no mistake now. She knew that it was my rock hard cock against her warm backside, and I knew she knew that I knew.I was paralyzed with fear and excitement and I held my breath. I waited, fully expecting that she would end the drama in my head just by taking a step forward and not bounce against me again--in fact, I was half hoping she would call this thing off. To my amazement, she returned for more. This time, after curving her back into my chest and abdomen and resting lazily against me for a moment, her bottom bumped twice in quick succession against my penis before moving immediately away. "Hello", I imagined her Ass saying to my Cock, "Nice to meet you." I almost squirted as I felt a burst of precum surge out the tip. My heart was beating furiously. "The pleasure is all mine, Firm Ass of MsPinkSweater."There were dozens of people on that train, inches and feet away, and I was having a secret communication, a silent affair with a woman whose face I could not even see. We were not introduced. We did not speak the same language. I knew nothing about her, and she knew nothing about me. We were reduced to a sort of primal dance of male and female sexuality, where the focus of my every thought was concentrated in my penis and its contact with her derri?re. It was not about me and her, or man and woman, it was about cock and ass, flesh against flesh, stripped of all other meaning, happening secretly, in the most public of public places.The dance continued. I never pressed forward, nor did I back up, and she bumped her ass against me again and again. One time I felt her raise up just a bit, so that as she made contact, the movement of her bottom caused the skin on my cock to rotate upwards just a bit, then back down. The next time, her ass moved in a small quick circle, and the skin moved along the length. My cock throbbed, ready to explode. The pauses were much longer than the contact; the anticipation unbearable.Then, as suddenly as I had become aware that I was the target of her actions and that this was not an accident, the train came to a sudden stop. Ms Pink and Ms White exited quickly and did not glance back. I stood there, trembling and shaking, my heart pounding, my throat choked, left with a memory that has resonated, like a dream, for years.___________________[sig]Onanymous[/sig]

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