Awakened Ch. 03

I skipped the boutique. I was feeling sort of high on my new look, and with it, the insistent sensation forming between my legs which had an agenda of its own, and one I was becoming increasingly powerless over.

Just a few blocks from home, I happened to walk by Paul's Coffee. I slowed down and looked at my phone, surreptitiously glancing in the window. My Brad wasn't there. So I continued home, but without any intention of staying put. I wanted to put on that second skin that masquerades as leggings, the flesh-colored ones that made no excuse for my fat protruding mound. I was horny and confident, that sort of dangerous combination that leads to bad decisions, morning-after regret, and night-before bliss.

One stop home, change of clothes, two buses downtown, and I found myself at the Powell BART station waiting for the next train. BART is like a subway, and before the days of regular global pandemics, was really the only way to commute around the bay. The Oakland trains were particularly crowded, leaving you wedged in between people for a solid hour, sometimes ass to crotch, or mortifyingly, crotch to face, depending upon the juxtaposition and density of the passengers.

I normally didn't need to be on the BART ever, with the exception of the once-a-month convocation in Berkeley, where we were to make rodomontades about our latest batch of fake burger meat and shoutouts to our "totally amazing and supportive team". But I wasn't there for travel, I was there for the thing everyone typically avoided: the crowd. I wanted to feel strange bodies against my near-naked flesh. I wanted to press my boobs against whoever was in front of me. I wanted to ogled.

Unfortunately, 1pm was too early for any of this. I'd have to wait a few hours. So I went back up to Market street, grabbed lunch, and wandered around downtown -- something I had rarely done since moving here. The city is a mixed bag of amazing architecture, tech companies, homeless encampments, hipsters in North Face coats, backpacks, and a pretty large contingent of people who probably should have been placed under close psychiatric care.

I made my way down a sidestreet, past a CVS, past a Wells Fargo bank, and then a store with what they refer to as a garden entrance displaying a number of shiny plastic objects in the windows called "Veronica's Closet". Curious, I wandered in. An attractive girl with green-dyed hair greeted me cheerfully, "hey, let me know if I can help you find anything!".

So in an end-of-the-week firsts, this was my first foray into an adult toy shop. I found my wide-eyed gaze taking in an array of variously-sized dildos, leather chaps, cosplay outfits, cock rings, handcuffs...I was quite overwhelmed and wanted to exit before I ran into someone I knew. I mean, some people might be comfortable with others knowing they are perverts, but I was a novice in a strange and frightening world.

It was also kind of exhilarating.

As I nervously, slowly, made my way up and down the aisles, I quickly backpedaled my opinion on what I assumed their customer base consisted of. I saw perfectly normal people, guys with good hair, a gay couple, and although men outnumbered females, there were at least three other women. I was more curious about what the girls were shopping for than the men.

I stood near a display of anal beads when I was startled by a voice behind me: "is this your first time here?"

I turned around with a nervous smile, it was the lovely green-haired Billie Eilish girl with a disarming smile and a small nose ring.

"Oh, yes, it is I was just on my way to the CVS", I said quickly, as if I needed a good reason to be where I was.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

I quickly scanned the aisle I was in, which seemed to be more male-oriented.

"Oh, no, not really.

"Ok, well, we do have a sale on vibratos of all kinds, we have the rabbit, the Hitachi is super-popular, we also got the Niki panty vibrator in".

A panty vibrator? I looked at her quizzically with my head slightly tilted. She smiled.

"Come here", she said, and for one rousing second I thought she was going to take my hand, but then I realized she just had a long gait and swung her arms quite a bit as she walked.

I followed her down the aisle and around the corner to a display of small, round, flat devices. "You just put these in your panties, and whenever you feel the mood strike, you just click the remote. It has ten speeds."

"Ten...blimey" (another first, I had never used the word "blimey" in any context). "Can't people hear it? I mean, do you hear it vibrating?"

"Well...do you hear anything now?"

I listened closely but could only make out the generic, soluble grocery store rock of Rob Thomas playing in the store speakers. But I was confused. How could I hear it vibrating, it was inside a plastic package. Ahh...she has one in now, I realized.

I shook my head. Then she moved to the counter, picked up a small device and clicked a few times. Now I heard buzzing.

A slow smile made its way to her lips.

"That's like level 8. If I go to ten I won't be able to hold a conversation with you" she said, half-laughing. I was struck with the wish that she would, indeed, take it to ten so I could watch her as she orgasmed.

I quickly grabbed one and paid -- cash. If I were to get run over by a bus on Market street, I didn't want the executor of my estate knowing the last thing I purchased was a wearable vibrator.

Billie Eilish rang me up. "We have a bathroom down the hall...and we sell batteries but this also comes with a rechargeable USB connector".

Bathroom? Was she suggesting I wanted to use it immediately?

But I did want to use it immediately. My pussy was already heating up. What would it feel like to have something vibrating against it? Electrifying my body,

anytime I wanted it.

Like now. I wanted it now.

"Thank you, I'll take batteries as well".

"Of course", she said, matter-of-factly. I took the packages, put them in my bag and headed for the bathroom. I went into the stall, ripped open each item. I examined it; it seemed so innocuous. Could this actually do anything? I turned it around, read the straight-forward instructions, pulled the front of my leggings out a bit, inserted, and turned it on.

And oh my. Immediately. I had never quite felt this sensation. It was a thousand tiny electrical impulses, all at once. I clicked the remote to three. My God, this goes to ten...I wouldn't get past 5. I closed my eyes. No fantasizing would be necessary. I'd get there just from this amazing feeling. I picked up the pace, skipping four and straight to five.

"MMmm...", a moan involuntarily escaped me. I felt myself getting instantly wet.

Of course, I clicked it right off. I was wearing leggings, sans panties. I wasn't even completely sure it would stay in place once I stood, but more importantly, I didn't want a dark wet spot around my pussy as I perambulated up and down Market street. For now, this next first-time would have to wait.

As I left Veronica's I fleetingly felt a combination of sadness and confusion for women who experience difficulty "achieving" orgasm. This didn't feel like an achievement in any sense of the word, but the strong inevitability of consistent sedulity against my clit. For all of my shortcomings and inexperience, it seemed like making myself cum was going to be something of a gift from the universe.

I only wished I didn't get so wet. There was no hiding that, and when I wasn't naked, it made me quite uncomfortable. It was a thing that caught me by surprise, since at no point in limited (nonexistent) contact between my thighs, I had never felt arousal, let alone anything like what was happening now.

Heading back to the BART, I could see the crowds getting there just ahead of me. I wanted to relive that excitement I'd felt in the coffee shop. But I had no motivation to hook up, or meet someone special, or have a one night stand. I simply wanted to inspire sexual desire again in a stranger, or strangers. A lifetime of being ignored now filtered down to an obsessive requisite of not just acceptance, but lust. And I needed that from people, not a person, from strangers especially, who only knew that I was female with a big ass and a fat pussy. I was a feminists worst nightmare: I wanted to be objectified.

I pushed into the crowd, folded my long tee shirt into the tops of my leggings, knowing you could now see it all. You could easily see the outline of my fleshy mound. It was leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Was anyone looking? Everyone appeared to be completely preoccupied with finding their train, getting home, getting on board. Some were on their phones, some had that glassy look that helped avoid any eye contact...most were heads down, just trying to get to Pleasanton, Oakland, and Livermore.

But a few made the quick glance. They weren't looking at me. They were looking down, between my legs. A shot of adrenaline pumped through my body. I was displaying the outline of my sex for anyone observant or curious enough to look. This was the same type of excitement I'd felt the day before at the coffee shop. I got into the long line to for the Berkeley stop, and was literally pushed into the car, stuck in the midst of a small throng. The doors closed and we started to move. Frustratingly, I had no idea who was behind me. In front of me were two wirey guys that looked like they were fresh off a long day of coding at a startup. And I couldn't tell who was behind me, but I could feel. He felt tall, he brushed against me as the car started to sway. I heard his voice on his phone. Deep, mature. This seemed adequate.

"We are presenting tomorrow duing the standup, we already have provisioned two POC's...", he droned on, "I better go, I'm going to lose the signal..."

The car rocked a bit, and he pressed against me. This time he didn't attempt to move back. I pressed back, pushing my ass against him. I had never, ever done anything like this. Was it illegal? Was i gross? The car rocked more, my ass now firmly lodged against him, but where. Was i against his crotch? Tops of his thighs? I couldn't tell.

As the train came to the first stop and slowed, I felt him against me more. Then the doors opened, and impossibly, many more pushed their way into the car. He was now firmly against me, and there was no mistaking where I was positioned. I could feel him, his maleness, he was beginning to stiffen against my backside. The extra passengers surged against those already in the car, pressing everyone together so tightly we were all now firmly locked into each other. If someone was in front of you, you were going to be tight against their body. Not so tight that one couldn't breath, but close enough so that there would be no hiding any type of physical enterprise.

The car bumped along, sometimes gently, sometimes with a sudden jerk. Within this rhythm, I felt that distinct, rubber-coated hardness against me.

I still held the remote in my hand. Emboldened by what was happening and growing hornier by the second, I switched it on. The initial shock of the feeling of vibrations against my clitoris caused me to gasp. Of course, no sound involuntarily emanating from my mouth was drowned out by the steady din of the train and its passengers. I was able to have both private and very public pleasure.

My head was absolutely swimming. I moved more, but we were so tightly packed together, I was only able to slightly vary the pressure against him. I knew nothing about this man, other than he was "provisioning a POC" and had a very hard, big cock firmly impinged against my bottom.

I moaned more, feeling a thrill each time a sound escaped the lower portions of my vocal chords, testing the auditory limits of what could be heard. The vibrations against my clit and the cock sliding on my ass was having an irreversible effect. I felt my pussy engorged, swollen, my clit now felt as big as his cock.

"Mmmm...fuck", i moaned out. Did he hear me? Could he hear me? Did he know what I knew, that his erection was jutted against my ass, that he was going to make me cum....

I realized that although I couldn't move forward or back, I could move up and down. I slid up, then slowly down, then up again. I could now sense his cock throbbing against the fabric of his pants and against the nylon of my tights. I want to increase the vibrator level, but I couldn't quite move my hand up to my face, and wasn't familiar enough with it yet to know how without looking. So I continued to move up and down, very slowly and very deliberately. I had made him rock hard. Could I make him cum? I doubted it, there just wasn't enough room, there were layers of clothes...

But I was getting closer.

"Oh god....mmmm....". I slid up and down more, increasing the rhythm. I felt his cock throb. Then he began to move. Oh my God, he was moving against me. He was fucking me over my leggings. Jesus. I was so overcome, so horny, so full of absolute lust.

"Yeah, fuck me", I whispered out loud. "Fuck me!". I wasn't certain he could possibly hear me, but I knew nobody else could have.

I moved more. He moved more. His hands moved down, and were suddenly on my hips.

He moved hesitantly, as if to say "Is this OK?". I pressed against him more. "Finger my pussy", I said, no longer whispering but certainly not audibly detectable. I felt my body against his chest. His hand came around to my front waist. He was brown. His forearm was just masculine, sexy, he wore...what was it, not a watch...an exercise thing? His other hand came around to my other side. He spread his fingers apart, feeling my lower torso.

I'd never as much as held hands with a boy, and now a total stranger was inches from my pussy. His hands moved my hips, his cock was throbbing against my ass. And suddenly his voice was in my ear.

"Mmmm" was all he got out. For some reason, I didn't want him to talk to me. I didn't want him to take pleasure, I wanted to give it to him, force it on him, I wanted to make him cum. I was also turned on beyond the point where I could make rational, measured judgement. My vibrator hummed along inside my yoga pants, I could feel I was reaching a place of no return and I was powerless to stop it.

The BART entered the tunnel that takes you under the bay to Oakland. As it entered the tunnel, I longed for this stranger to enter my tunnel. What would it feel like to have a big hard cock buried in my pussy, my soaked pussy.

With his mouth still in my ear, I spoke directly to him.

"Take your cock out. I want to feel your bare cock against my ass".

Again, I knew he couldn't hear me, but saying something this bold -- out loud -- was electrifying my body.

With what seemed like quite a concerted effort, he suddenly moved away from me. His hands were off my waist. Did he get scared? Was it too much? Did I freak him out? I wished I could shut off my vibrator. I was fumbling with the controls, my uninhibited stupor was starting to break, when he was back. And this time, I felt his hard pole, his naked cock, directly in the crease of my ass. He slid it against me, up and down.

I was shocked. This man had the audacity to pull his cock out in the middle of a BART car, full of people...if he were caught, he'd be jailed with at least indecent exposure charges.

I desperately fumbled the control of the vibrator. I needed to stop everything, I had gone way too far and so had whoever it was that was behind me. I frantically pressed one of the buttons, clicking it several times.

But Instead of turning it down, I had turned it completely up.

There was no turning back now. I moaned loudly. There was something about the loss of power over what was happening that left me even more inhibited than having orchestrated the entire scene.

"You're making me cum!" I quietly moaned. This time, I knew he heard me, there was no mistaking it. His cock moved faster, pressed harder, his hands went completely around me, as he continued to grind his engorged, hard member into me right there in the middle of the train car.

"Oh God!", I moaned, that was it, I had no choice, I was going to cum. The insistent vibrations directly pounding my clit, the cock against me, it was more than my little pussy could take.

I closed my eyes tightly and suddenly felt his cock eject its load all over my ass.

And then I came. I came so much. I felt it flooding between my legs, I didn't moan - the pleasure was too intense - I simply shut my eyes tightly and squealed.

It was a long orgasm, a good twenty seconds of my pussy spasming, flooding my tights. I also realized I had lost all strength and was being held upright only by his arms.

I won't spend time describing how he managed to get his dick back in his pants, how he slowly let go of me and attempted some weird, awkward, almost-apologetic small talk. I didn't want him to be sorry, what was he sorry for? I was the one that made it happen, not him. I was the one that made his cock hard. And honestly, it was my vibrator that made my pussy orgasm. It wasn't him. He was a mere participant, an accessory.

We got to the first top in Oakland and I practically ran out of the BART. I have no idea what his face looked like, his hair, his body, his name. I only knew that I had made him fuck me (stylist Kenny would later explain this was something called 'frottage' as I recounted this saga to him with his wide-eyed stare, shaking his head no, mouth agape, but smiling, in disbelief).

I sat down on the bench, completely exhausted, soaked...

I had never, ever, experienced a rush like this.

I'd never tried drugs, but this was my heroin, and I was fucking hooked.