It's 7.30 am and I have to get to work soon, but I wanted to get this down before I forget it. It's kinda weird. I had the strangest dream a little while back and woke up perplexed. Actually, I'm not sure when I woke up - how much was proper dream and how much just floated through my head as I was lying there, half awake, half asleep.

I think I want it all to have been a dream.

Okay, so I was on a train. The train to London, I think, but it wasn't like the real train to London. There were seats facing one another, with no table in between. We were in a group of four, three blokes and me. Their faces kept changing. Sometimes - mostly, in fact - they were older guys, and unknowns, just blank faces. But sometimes there was a young guy diagonally opposite me, and on occasions they were people from work - Terry, Jack, the geek from accounts and - worst of all - that seriously weird one from the computer room, the one they don't let out on his own.

So we're travelling along, and it's the East Coast Main Line south of Biggleswade, so it's as rough as hell, and I can feel my tits bouncing about all over the place - this is how I know it's a dream, of course 3; *LOL* - and naturally all the guys are watching me. I seem to be wearing a short skirt which gets progressively shorter, and the guy opposite is openly trying to see up it. I squeeze my legs close together and frown at him reprovingly, but that seems to make him even more blatant. Then I feel his foot on mine, pressing hard against me. I yelp and I'm about to say something but he gives me a look, really terrifying, and I shut up. He is pushing his foot against me, trying to prise my ankles apart, and his shoe is rubbing painfully against my skin. In exasperation I move my feet and allow him to press his shoe between them. Immediately he forces his other one in too, and he leers at me. The others are watching silently.

Slowly, he begins to push outward with his feet, trying to spread my legs. He is very strong, and the pressure against me is intense. I struggle, but can't hold against him and feel my feet slide apart, a couple of inches, a foot, two feet. I pull my knees together to compensate, but he keeps pushing. He is sitting on the edge of his seat by now, legs stretched, forcing me to follow suit. The strain is beginning to tell on my thighs and knees in particular, but I hold on until the person next to me joins in, hooking his ankle round mine and pulling it towards him. I give up and am sent backwards in my seat, my legs splaying open. The movement forces my skirt to ride up, and by now it has degenerated into the flimsiest micro anyway, so my panties are completely exposed to everyone.

I'm wailing in alarm, but no-one is interested. They are all staring at me, grinning.

"Take off your panties," the man opposite says, kicking my shin. I refuse, but he plants his foot on my toe and begins to grind against it until I succumb, sobbing. He releases me and I slip down my panties, taking advantage of my freedom to seat myself more demurely. Ironically, the act of removing my panties has allowed me to cover myself again.

Not for long.

He begins the same manoeuvre again, and although I resist he quickly settles me into my exposed position once more, sat back in my chair, legs akimbo, but this time with my bared pussy on display. I close my eyes and try to shut out the people staring at me.

"Play with yourself," he tells me, kicking my shin again. The others voice their approval in guttural growls and, although I refuse, I know I shall have no option. Finally, I am doing it, but in the dream there is no start point for this. Time slips, and one minute I'm not, the next I am. As I'm doing it the scene starts to change, and I find myself in bed, and at my desk at work, and in front of my webcam, and at the art gallery. Each time I'm stroking myself reluctantly for my audience, but over time my dream becomes less vivid and less linear, until there are only pulses of memory, like snapshots of moments in time, and finally the dream shifts entirely

I'm standing in the art gallery.

The girl is there. My unconscious memory has recreated her perfectly, her face, her bottom, the way she walks, the thin lip, her cheeky smile, that wonderful, raunchy smile which hints at hidden depths. We're standing together, looking at the Girl with a Tear. I'm behind her, sidling closer and closer, my hand whispering against her thigh. She looks at me curiously then returns to the painting and I stroke my palm against her, slowly, deliberately. She doesn't move, shows no emotion. So I stroke her again, dragging my thumb across her jeans, sliding my fingers over the undulating flesh and down the valley into her crack, allowing me to grip her cheek and squeeze it. Still she pays me no heed, and finally she walks away.

I can't take my eyes off her, and lust begins to rise within me. My stomach is rolling and shuddering, nervous anticipation sweeping through it, the kind of nervousness you encounter when you first pluck up the courage to ask a boy out.

A text comes through on my mobile.

Flash her

I ignore it and we walk around the gallery once more. We find ourselves at the Japanese landscape and I sit on the bench in front of it.

Flash her

This time I feel a pulse of excitement, a ripple of nervous tension. Suddenly, I know I'm going to do it. No, it's more than that: I feel that I want to do it. She's standing in front of me and she turns round. As she does I engage her look and smile. She smiles back and I slowly part my legs to reveal my bared pussy. I spread myself wide for her, letting my skirt ride up over my thighs and feeling the cold wooden surface against my cheeks.

It is one of the most exciting experiences I've ever known. Even in my dream, in my semi-somnolent state, I can feel a surge of sexual energy. The girl smiles and steps closer, bending towards me. I can feel her breath on my thigh as she kneels between my legs and lowers her head to my pussy. She inhales, taking in my smell, and flicks her tongue towards my waiting lips.

Take a picture for me

It seems perfectly natural. An obvious thing to do. I use my phone to record the girl's tongue in my pussy and send it to 3;

To who?

To who?

Show me

And I'm on the train again, with three people surrounding me. No-one forces me to part my legs but I do anyway, and I show myself off, relishing the shivers of dread embarrassment which run through me. I want not to see them, but I want them to see me. I part my lips and slide my fingers between them, feeling the dense moisture cover my fingertips. I play with my clitoris, pulling back its hood, displaying it for my onlookers, then teasing my index and middle fingers either side of it, squeezing, cajoling.

"Suck me." Before I know it I'm on my knees and there's a cock in front of me, rigid and fat, with a huge foreskin. I look up, but the face is indistinct. I take the cock in my hand and squeeze it, pushing it back firmly. He grunts and thrusts forward, pressing it towards my face. I have an urge to bite it, but instead I slip it into my mouth, feeling the large glans slide between my teeth, followed by a bulge of loose foreskin. He smells of peach, curiously. I begin to fuck him with my mouth, but my mind is on the girl, and the dream alternates between snapshots of her, naked and stretched across a bench, and his cock sliding into my mouth.

I suck furiously, wanking him with my hand. He is talking to me all the time, telling me what he can see, thanking me for doing it. And all the time I'm thinking "so what?"

He jumps forward on his seat, gripping my head and pushing himself hard against me, sliding his cock deep down my throat. I allow him to guide my head and form a vacuum against his dick with my mouth, exerting maximum pressure against him. In moments he begins to moan and jerk against me in small, agitated thrusts, and I feel his spunk jet hot and fast against the back of my tongue. Four, five, six bursts and I swallow each one.

I remove myself from his dick and look up.

And the alarm clock is ringing.

Now, it doesn't take a Freudian expert to pick through the meaning of the above. But it disturbs me more than I can possibly say.

And what disturbs me more than anything at all is that, despite what I said at the start, I wasn't dreaming any of this. This diary is useless unless I'm completely honest. So I will be.

I was wide awake through this entire episode. It was a product of my conscious mind.

And that's what really worries me 3;

But now, bugger it, I'm late for work 3;

:-(