Shunted

She was there.

Again.

Reading a book, gently rocking to the rhythm of the tracks. Her knees held tightly together and the book in her lap.

She was impeccably dressed.

As usual.

This was the third week he'd been catching the train and he always looked forward to seeing her. He caught an earlier train than he needed to because it was her train. In the evenings, he caught the train ten minutes later than he could because she was there.

There were benefits. He was getting to work earlier and he was staying a little later. This had been noticed and his bosses were pleased. It was all because of her.

She looked across at him with her brown eyes and short, blond hair. Her hair was straight, almost masculine, but there was nothing masculine about her. She had a small nose and inviting thin lips on a face that was unblemished.

She was not young. He guessed that she was older than he was. Maybe ten years. He didn't know. He wasn't good at guessing ages. Whatever age she was, she looked good. She had character. Always the same red lipstick and always a smart suit. He loved her shoes, whichever she chose. Her feet were small and perfectly formed. Open-toed shoes were his favourite. Then he could admire her small toes and the meticulously painted toenails. Red. Like her lipstick.

He thought of sucking on those toes. He'd never thought of doing that for anyone else. He'd always considered it gross. But he would. For her. They looked so clean. So perfect. So....delicious.

He smiled at her. She smiled back faintly. Her smile didn't invite him to go further, but it didn't reject him either. The exchange of smiles was enough for her. But not for him.

He was going to follow her tomorrow and find out where she worked. God, I'm a stalker, he thought. If only he could get up off his arse and introduce himself, then he wouldn't have to.... stalk her. That was silly. He wasn't stalking, he just wanted to find out where she worked. Only because he was too shy to get off his arse and ask her.

He sat there, across from her, willing himself to say hello. Of course, he didn't. He sat there for the whole thirty minute journey imagining how it would be if they could go out for a drink or dinner or.....

Or what?

It was all a fantasy. He would never have the guts to talk to her. And he knew it.

The red lipstick. He wondered if she....went down. If she would.... suck. He didn't like thinking of her like that. It was crude. But he did. He couldn't help it. Hands on her small head, holding her by her blonde hair. Her lipstick leaving streaks on his.....

Suck cock. That's what you mean. Just say it. Just admit and think about it as much as you like. She's there, but she doesn't know. Who cares? She's got her head in that book, when really, you'd like her head in your lap, her mouth open, her tongue....

Shit.

He didn't like having those thoughts. They got him excited and when he got excited, he got.... a hard on. He didn't enjoy those on the train. It was embarrassing and made him self-conscious. He would be desperate to adjust himself, to make it more comfortable, but the best he could do would be to shift himself in his seat and hope that his cock would find somewhere to settle without causing further pain and embarrassment.

She turned the page. As he'd done for every day of the three weeks, he looked at her hands and saw that she didn't wear a wedding ring. Or any ring. Don't be silly, that doesn't mean anything. She could be living with someone or she was one of those independent women that didn't need to wear a ring to be committed to someone else. But it gave him hope, however small, that there was a chance.

If he could get off his arse, that is, and go over and say hello.

Then he could sit next to her. Maybe her hands would settle on his thigh. Or his lap. Rub his....

He could always sit next to her. That wouldn't be too hard.

Hard. An unfortunate choice of words.

She always had a seat next to her when he got on, but three stops later the train would be full. He always sat in the same seat so that he could better look at her. Furtive, quick glances. Once she'd smiled her morning greeting, she rarely glanced at him again until it was her stop. Then she would occasionally nod a farewell. He could sit next to her, but then he wouldn't be able to watch her so easily.

A conundrum.

But then he could talk to her. The prospect filled him with fear and excitement. Just one word. Hello. Or five. Hello, my name is John. It didn't seem too hard.

Hard. Again.

Tomorrow he would follow her and find out a little more besides the fact that she read books and liked red lipstick. That was all he knew.

He never wondered about she actually did for a living. Rather, he wondered about what she could do. To him....

Did she like sex?

Did she ever take her suit off?

Did she fuck?

Come on. Hello. It's easy.

He was saved from his mental wrestling by the station. The train pulled up just as she was tucking the book into her sensible handbag. Not too small to be less than practical, but not too big to be unwieldy. He watched as she got off. She didn't look at him this time. He was disappointed.

As she moved down the platform he contemplated quickly getting off just before the doors automatically shut, but he was going to do that tomorrow. He had a plan.

Yeah, right.

He could see her through the window as she made her way towards the escalators with the stream of other commuters. She moved briskly, but as she looked back at the train, he averted his eyes and ducked down to pretend he was tying his shoelaces.

Shit. He realised he was wearing slip-ons. What a dick. He hoped no one had been watching him, watching her. He was behaving like a scared kid. Or a stalker.

Come on, I'm not a stalker. I just want to find out more about her.

The train took a little while to depart, so when it passed the exit, she was no longer there.

He was quickly at the next station. His station, not hers.

He sighed and alighted from his carriage and moved with the crowd up the escalators. He swiped the travel pass across the scanner and walked around to his exit. As he walked up the stairs, he felt someone too close behind and they bumped him. He was going to turn around and ask them to slow down, but the crowd was too dense for him to stop without causing an obstruction. They bumped into him again. Fuck me.

When he got to the top, he stopped and spun around.

It was her.

"Hi, I'm Devyn," she said smiling at him. A full smile. A real smile.

Her voice was soft. Better than he'd imagined. Her eyes were blue and she had tiny wrinkles on the end of them when she smiled.

She was smiling.

At him.

"Er, hi," he said. What else could he say?

"I've gotten off that train every day for the past three weeks wondering what I should say to you," she said, "but I couldn't think of anything. And if I did think of anything, I couldn't do it."

He nodded.

"Me....too."

She took his elbow. He liked that. It felt good. Touching her. Her touching him.

Even better.

She was beaming at him. She was so....beautiful.

"Anyway, I thought today, 'Fuck it, Devyn, show some balls and at least find out where he gets off'." She smiled. "Oh, I hope you don't mind if I swear?"

"Uh, no," he said. "I swear sometimes too."

What a dick. Say something intelligent.

"Shit, I swear too much and talk too much," she said, still smiling. "All the time."

He nodded. He didn't know what to say. He just stood there looking at her as everyone walked around them.

Them. Together.

She laughed. A nice laugh. Not at him. For him.

He looked down at her perfect small hand on his elbow. It felt soft, even through his jacket. The nails of her fingers were meticulously groomed short and painted with clear polish.

I wonder how they'd feel around my....

"Well anyway," she continued, "when I got off the train today, I walked along the platform and then jumped in two carriages behind you."

"You did?"

"I stalked you," she said, smiling again.

"I guess."

Stalked?

Her teeth were so white. Her lips were so perfect. Inviting lips. Red lipstick. He wanted to bend over and kiss her....

"So, are you going to ask me for a coffee or do I have to ask you?"

She smiled.

"Um, would you like to go for a coffee?"

She laughed again. Beautiful.

"Love to," she said, "but I'd like to know your name first."

"John," he said.

"Looks like I'm going to have to do most of the talking.... John."

She now held his arm in both her hands and pressed herself against his side. He felt the heat. He wanted to turn around so that she could press against him better. Against his....

She winked at him.

"Of course, if you've been thinking what I've been thinking," she said, "and I think you have from all the fidgeting you do on the train, then maybe we won't have to talk too much at all."

She smiled again and took his hand and they walked away from the station entrance.

Looking for a café.

Or something else.