Norwegian.

June 8, 2007

I step onto the train, and subconsciously scanned the occupants. I spy one intensely attractive women sitting, coincidentally, across from the seat I had earmarked the moment I stepped aboard. She looked Norwegian. Something about the face, the hat, and the flowing knee-length skirt.

When sitting, the blue-green skirt sat just above her knees. My day had been long. I’d been asked to do a few more weeks work on a project I really don’t value at all. I wasn’t in the mood to chat.

I wish I had been. This girl spotted me as I sat down across from her, and she was continually glancing back at me. She moved to get a little more comfortable on the train seat, in the process shifting her legs slightly to point in my direction, and also nudging them ever so slightly apart.

The single motion sets my mind racing, and starts blood rushing to my groin. Before long, I have an erection I could hammer nails with. Today I’m wearing my baggies; nobody but me knows that I’m hard.

I can’t help but look at this girl’s legs. My mind’s running through all sorts of mental imagery, most of it involving her leaning back just a little more, and me easing down between those legs. Tongue or cock while I’m there? Inevitably both for as long as possible, but it doesn’t matter. These are the sweetest pictures I’ve dreamt up in a while.

She shifts her legs back closer together. Party’s over. It’s her stop. She gets off the train. Nary a glance back, naturally.

I imagine kissing her, holding her, fucking her. Then walk home throbbing in my trousers.