


                      TRAIN TRAVEL
                           
                           by
 
                      C. Lakewood  



    I met Jo on a blind date in the spring of my junior year.  We 
hit it off well and subsequently saw a lot of each other.  After 
I graduated -- with an Engineering degree -- she had one more year, 
but we stayed connected and married the following June.  That was 
nine years ago, and we've been happy enough, though "happy" might 
not be exactly the right word.  To tell the truth, the intensity 
has gradually vanished.  It's a bit hard to explain.  We didn't 
become hostile or even indifferent toward each other; we just 
seemed to drift apart, into separate orbits that occasionally 
intersected.  As a result, our life together became rather 
predictable (even boring at times), but comfortable.  We have 
no kids -- she can't conceive -- and that may have made a big 
difference. 

    Some months ago, my company sent me to Japan for a year to 
superintend the installation and initial operation of a rather 
complicated process at one of our Asian affiliates.  (I do 
speak some Japanese, having spent a couple of years on Okinawa, 
but I can't read it.)  Jo came with me.  I was not tremendously 
enthusiastic about going, but I did think that the change might 
be a welcome diversion of sorts...for both of us.

		******************************
 
    The job was in Tokyo, but the apartment provided for us was 
outside the city, so I had to take a train in to work.  Since 
I was relatively experienced (in the past, I've commuted into 
Chicago and into Philadelphia), I figured I knew what to expect.  
But....

    That first morning, when the train pulled into the little 
suburban station, it was already pretty well packed, except for 
one car.  Naturally, I started to board that one, but a uniformed 
attendant officiously shooed me away, repeatedly pointing to a 
pink sign (in Japanese!).  Then I spotted an English translation: 

		"This carriage is for ladies only."  

Meanwhile, several of the "ladies" were gibbering at me and  
apparently calling me a variety of things, including "gaijin" 
(which I knew meant "foreigner" -- or "foreign devil") and 
"chikan" (which meant "pervert").  I recalled that men groping 
women on crowded trains had been quite common in Japan for some 
time, but I was still annoyed...especially since I had to board 
a car in which there were no empty seats and not even much 
standing room.  By the time we'd made a couple of stops down 
the line, there was NO spare standing room at all.  Everyone was 
wedged in tightly; my nostrils were filled with a spicy alien 
stench; I was continually being jostled; and, as a result, I was 
even more pissed.  

    So I clung to a chromed pole and swayed along with the train, 
trying to be better than everybody else and not to bump the 
nearby riders any more than I had to.  Then the train suddenly 
decelerated, and, caught unprepared, I lurched forward into the 
woman standing an inch or two in front of me.  My right hand was 
mashed against the woman's butt...and I instinctively squeezed.   
 
    And she didn't flinch or react in any way.  

    I had several quick thoughts, tumbling over one another.  
First, I was grateful that she didn't scream, hit me, or 
demand my arrest.  Second, it occurred to me that, since 
groping in Japanese trains was a more popular sport than 
baseball or martial arts -- and, since she hadn't opted for 
the "ladies only" coach -- perhaps she LIKED a touch of 
anonymous fondling.  Third, I decided to test her limits.  
And, fourth, maybe I WAS a bit of a pervert after all.

    I proceeded to survey what I could see of the woman.

    She was wearing a scarlet suit (shameless show-off!), with a 
short jacket and a skirt whose hem was beyond my field of vision 
(we were so closely packed).  She was tallish for a Jap woman as 
she stood, but was probably wearing heels, so she must have been 
about 5'2" barefoot.  Maybe 110-115 lbs.  Her hair (black, of 
course) had a few artful streaks of grey, but was no real indicator 
of her age.  If I had to guess, my gut feeling was that she was 
probably 40-something.  She smelled good...subtle, suitably 
inscrutable. 

    By this time, my earlier annoyance had been pretty much 
dissipated by this new prospect, but I was driven forward 
(into what I later realized was very risky behavior) by a 
combination of arrogance, stupidity, and (increasingly) lust.

    I felt her ass a bit, then investigated her skirt's waistband.  
It was too tight; I could barely get my fingers underneath it.  
Regardless how long her skirt was, I knew that if I wanted to 
score, I'd have to get my hand up under the hem.  I glanced 
around.  Everybody nearby seemed to be reading or meditating 
(or maybe even concentrating on a grope themselves).  

    After caressing her ass a bit more, I began gradually pulling 
up her skirt in back.  It was slow, clumsy work, since I could use only my right hand.  (My left arm was wrapped around the metal 
pole, and my left hand held my portfolio.)  Eventually, though, I 
had edged it high enough that I could snake my hand underneath and 
up to her ass again, fingering her thighs in passing.  

    And still she didn't react.

    I was reacting, though.  I had a monumental erection, stoked by 
what was certainly the most excitement I'd had in months.  I slid 
my hand past the waistband of her pantyhose and then down into her 
panties.

    I was on fire.  It was intoxicating, exhilarating.  I could 
practically hear the testosterone throbbing through my veins.  
The unthinkable danger, the unbreakable dominance....  My fingers 
slid between her legs and up through her sparse pubic hair.  I was 
invincible.  

    I played with her erect clitoris, and her breath caught.  Then 
I gained the entrance to her drooling cunt and slithered a finger 
inside.  Her cunt-muscles contracted a bit, but there was still room, so I added a second finger.  Despite her passive exterior, 
her cunt was hot and wet and eager.  She even wriggled her ass 
cheeks around my wrist. 

    I began sawing my fingers in and out...in and out....  It 
seemed to take a looong time, but, eventually, she uttered a 
tiny whimper, and her cunt spasmed, tightening on my fingers 
and then slowly relaxing.  She gave a soft hiss of satisfaction.  
I extricated my fingers, wiping them clean on her pubic hair, 
her thighs, and the crotch of her panties.  (Even so, my hand 
still carried her scent hours later.)

    As we pulled into the terminal, I gave her ass a final squeeze 
and withdrew my hand, letting her skirt fall back into place.  The 
train stopped, and she moved forward, toward the front exit, while 
I edged backward into the current of commuters leaving by the door 
behind me.  Outside, on the platform, I spotted her up ahead.  She 
was gazing about, as if looking for someone.  She was attractive, but, at the moment, somewhat frazzled.  Moreover, her eyes looked 
dazed, I thought...yet there was a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. 

    A moment later, the surging crowd bore me away.  (I had enough 
presence of mind, however, to carry my portfolio in front of my 
tell-tale crotch.)

		******************************
    
    I actually got more work done that day than I'd expected, it 
being my first day there.  I had an unusual amount of energy and 
confidence and an almost preternatural clarity.  By the end of the 
day, I had begun to wonder how I could infuse my marriage with 
some of this as well. 

		******************************

    Over a bottle of sake that evening, I told Jo what had happened 
on the morning's commute...in complete detail.  She was, by turns, 
incredulous, hurt, angry, derisive, curious, and fascinated. 

    So far, so good.

    But, when I suggested that she might enjoy being a gropee, she 
reversed right back to incredulity, and I had to work through the whole gamut of emotions again.  I was hopeful, however, since I 
already knew that she had something of a submissive streak (though 
I had no idea how compelling it might be).  In the end, she did 
promise to consider the proposition...and I could tell that the 
prospect excited her.  

    Even so, it took her three days to agree.

		******************************

    Thursday evening, we made our preparations for her adventure 
the following morning.  First, we depilated her crotch to virtually 
pre-adolescent smoothness.  Then, we sorted through her wardrobe 
for an appropriate outfit.  After some debate, we settled on a thin 
white tank top (without a bra), a blue denim mini-skirt, thong 
panties, and flip-flops.  For the record, Jo is a honey-blonde, 
5'7", about 135 lbs., 34B-26-36, and she looked stunning in those 
clothes.  I knew the male commuters were going to love her.  (And, 
despite her initial reluctance -- real or feigned -- she could 
barely wait until morning.  She was only 31, but some women need 
reassurances about their sex appeal at even younger ages.) 

    We left the apartment very early -- and separately -- on Friday 
morning.  Jo was dithering, outwardly uncertain whether to go or 
stay.  But it was all show, I knew; she was clearly aroused...so 
much so that she could barely speak...and nothing could prevent 
her going. 

		******************************

    We stood some distance apart on the platform, but I might as 
well have been invisible, since the waiting passengers, 99% male, 
were all looking at Jo.  And she was well worth looking at.  (I was 
wearing sunglasses, so I could stare wherever I liked, as long as 
I liked.  The rising sun behind her was turning her hair to spun 
gold...and rendering her tank top translucent.  Though the air was 
still cool, she was perspiring.  (Was the sheen on her thighs 
merely sweat...or was it also cunt-juice?)  I did think the skirt 
could be improved.  It was short, but might be even shorter....  

    She was still showing some ambivalence.  At times, she just 
stood there pigeon-toed, biting her lip and tugging on the hem 
of her skirt.  But then she would stalk a few paces back and 
forth, subtly twitching her hips and wriggling her tits...and 
causing erections to rise all along the platform.  (I was not 
affected; I'd had a continuous hard-on since before breakfast.  
I had also taken the precaution of wearing a condom, because 
I didn't want to have to clean up another ungodly mess like 
Monday's.)      

    Finally, the train arrived, and I boarded a car through one 
door while Jo entered it through the other -- followed by a mob 
of potential gropers. 
         
    I took up a pre-planned position, from which I could get a 
pretty good look at Jo, who was facing me.  It helped that I was 
significantly taller than most of the other passengers.  Less 
than five minutes after the train had left the station, her eyes 
went wide and her mouth dropped open.  The Great Grope had begun. 

    I wasn't able to see all of it, because the gropers surrounding 
her were ebbing and flowing and sometimes hid her, but I saw a lot 
of it, and what I saw I thoroughly enjoyed.  (And she obviously 
enjoyed it, too.) 

    When we alighted at the terminal, she joined me briefly.  All 
she could say was, "Wow!"  We made plans to meet for lunch, and 
she suggested that she might rest up, meanwhile, in a movie. 

		******************************

    At lunch, she didn't look particularly rested.  As it turned 
out, not knowing more than a smattering of Japanese, she had 
inadvertently chosen a porno theatre to "rest up" in.  She entered 
during the opening credits, but hadn't been in her seat more than 
a few minutes when she realized what sort of movie it was.  But, by 
that time, the die had been cast; a man had sat down on either side 
of her and almost immediately began feeling her up.  One soon got 
into her panties, while the other pulled her tank top down around 
her waist and busied himself playing with her tits.  The double 
feature had lasted almost three hours...or 10-12 orgasms.  Add in 
the 8-10 on the train (according to her recollection), and it was 
no wonder she looked shop-worn. 

    I phoned my assistant and got the name of a modest, nearby 
hotel and took her there, where she actually could rest up the 
remainder of the day.
 
		******************************

    When I picked her up late in the afternoon, she seemed much 
restored.  As we left the hotel room, she handed me a small wad 
of cloth -- her panties.  I put them in my pocket without comment. 

    The train ride home was similar to that morning's, though 
detouring to the hotel meant that we missed the main crush of 
rush hour passengers.  The somewhat thinner crowd didn't mean 
less groping, however.  I even became a participant, not merely 
an observer.  I threaded my way through the press to a position 
behind her, slipped my hand between two gropers who were working 
on her cunt, and began fingering her asshole (something she'd 
always been reluctant to let me do).

    It gave me a feeling of exaltation to be playing with my wife's 
virgin asshole amidst a mob of horny Japs.  For all she knew, the 
perv diddling her asshole was another stranger.  She was standing 
passively, gripping a pole tightly with both hands.  Despite the 
more than 20 orgasms she'd already had that day, when I shoved my 
thumb up her ass, she climaxed so hard she went up on her toes.  

    She was moaning softly, continuously, but I wasn't able to do 
anything more, because just then I was elbowed out of the way.  I 
retreated to my original vantage point and pulled out some tissues, 
intending to wipe off my thumb.  But then I saw that that was 
unnecessary; my thumb was clean and, in fact, smelled sweet, like 
flowers...or soap.  Apparently, besides resting, Jo had made some 
preparations.  It was interesting and would bear thinking about.

		******************************

    We had a long, earnest, and honest conversation that evening, 
freely sharing our thoughts about what had happened and what we 
hoped would happen in the days to come.  Jo wanted to repeat her 
porno theatre experience (but with me watching from a row behind).  
She also wanted to visit a strip club, a whore house, and a public 
bath.  I wanted to watch a teenage Jap girl dominate her and a 
young Jap stud introduce her to various perversions.  I also 
thought it would be great if she didn't just visit a strip club, 
but got a job there.  And, of course, we both wanted her to 
continue riding the train.      
  
    We were both so turned on that we spent virtually the whole 
weekend in bed.
  
		****************************** 

    Building on that start, we are closer now -- and more 
passionate -- than we were even as newlyweds.  Will it last?  
Who knows?  But, at least for now, our marriage has been 
reinvigorated, we've developed many compelling interests in 
common, we've made a host of new friends....  

    And we've re-upped for another year in Japan. 
 
