In a Flash, We Were Gone

[A QUICK PREAMBLE: This is a work of fiction and high fantasy, and is to be taken as such. If in the reading of this, you find yourself tempted to repeat the acts depicted herein, PLEASE read the Author's Note at the end of this tale, thank you.]

***

It was entirely by chance that I sat where I sat, on the eight-carriage train that day. I'm very glad I did sit there, though.

I had put no conscious thought into choosing my seat, I never do. I'd arrived at the station a minute before the train pulled in. I stepped through the nearest carriage door once the train had stopped. The carriage was about half full, so I grabbed an open seat on the eastern side of the carriage, to avoid the glare of the afternoon sun -- and that was about as much of a conscious decision about choosing a seat as I had made.

I was in a good mood that day. I'd just caught up with an old girlfriend over a long lunch, which had brought lots of laughs and memories, with great food and a very nice glass of wine to boot. I was feeling mellow and, if I may say so of myself, somewhat aglow; I had worn one of my favourite dresses, a flowing red summery number that billowed nicely about my hips but clung tightly to my curves and breasts, cut low at the neck and showing my assets off quite nicely. I had been feeling fine all day, a welcome break from the usual, all of which combined to leave me in a happy state that had not abated in the time it took me to sit down on the train.

And so, when a guy already sitting in a seat nearby, just across the aisle, caught my eye and said "hey", with a friendly smile and a welcome lack of sleaze or leer, I was happy enough to return-fire with a "hey" of my own.

"You look like you've had a good day," he observed.

I looked at him again. His tone was easy, conversational. He was smiling, unassuming and open. There was maybe something of a twinkle in his eye, mildly mischievous but nothing off-putting -- quite the opposite. I've always been partial to the cheeky guys, it's definitely a weakness of mine.

"I have had a good day, actually," I smiled. "I had a really nice lunch, which was also a bit of a job interview."

"Oh yeah?" he returned. He was a similar age to me. He was dressed fairly casual: t-shirt, jeans and work boots. He was tanned, his hands were clean but looked rough -- he looked fit, as though he did a lot of physical work day-to-day, feeding and building the obvious strength in his shoulders, arms and abdomen, a jacket laying across his lap. "What sort of work do you do?"

"I'll take whatever work's on offer at this point," I didn't mind confessing. "It's been a few months since my last job. My friend Karen, she's growing her interior design consultancy, so she's looking for some extra help front-of-house: admin, invoicing, client liaison, that sort of thing."

"Sounds like good work," he nodded. "Interior design, too -- that industry is really taking off these days. Should keep you in work for a while," he reckoned.

"Hoping so!" I beamed.

Our conversation was something of a treat, I was surprised to find. I'm a social animal, and I don't always enjoy my solo train trips from the city back to my outer-suburban home. It was a welcome change from the usual stoic silence I endure, or the blank-minded scrolling through social media on my phone, or the occasional unwelcome entreaties from would-be suitors who didn't seem to realise that non-committal, one-word answers were code for 'I'm not in the mood for being woo'd, please leave me be'.

But this guy, just across the aisle: he seemed nice, he was emitting positive vibes, I was in a good mood... and he was kind of cute. "So what do you do?" I asked of him, to keep the conversation rolling.

"I'm a diesel fitter," he told me. "I work at the local metro garages -- keeping the garbage trucks, diggers and works vehicles on the road."

"Good honest work, then?" I asked of him -- slightly cheeky and needling, hinting at the reputation our local metro workers had earned for taking it very easy on the job.

He laughed at that, free and heartily. "I pull my own weight," he was happy to inform me, with a huge grin. I saw his hand move beneath the jacket in his lap when he said it, but I didn't twig -- I paid it no thought, thinking he'd just gone for an unthinking crotch-scratch, as guys are wont to do. "I'm a crew leader, I work the morning shifts -- five-thirty to two o'clock. We've got huge workloads, and if we fall behind, the city falls behind. So I always make sure the boys put in sixty minutes to the hour," he assured me.

"That's good to hear," I smiled.

"My name's Toby, anyways," he supplied.

"Emma," I returned.

Our conversation carried on for another ten or fifteen minutes; we spoke easily and laughed often, not afraid to give each other a little stick as we covered topics at random. The carriage was emptying fairly quickly, it was early in the afternoon and well before the peak times, where the crush of bodies would fill all of the seats, spill into the aisles and barely abated all the way to my station at the end of the line.

But on our early-afternoon service, there were now maybe half a dozen other passengers still in the carriage with us, spread out evenly -- paying us scant attention, ear buds or books or newspapers keeping them well-occupied. Toby and I had been chatting as though we had the train entirely to ourselves, and I was really enjoying his company. He seemed to be telegraphing some low-key interest, and I had returned serve on that front, somewhat coyly. I had been wondering -- and hoping -- for a few minutes now that he might actually ask me out, when he went and asked something else:

"Hey Emma," he began, after a short pause in conversation. "Can you keep a secret?"

I blinked, processing the unexpected query. "Uh, sure," I invited.

"Well..." he said.

And he shifted his jacket away from his lap, revealing that he had his jeans unzipped and his cock exposed. His fingers grasped his shaft lightly.

And he was hard. Big, and hard.

I boggled slightly, before covering my mouth and breaking into laughter, embarrassed and surprised. I had looked away, in shock at the turn of events...

But I soon looked back, to take in the sight again, and then look him in the eye. "Toby," I scolded -- not too loudly though, not wanting to call attention on us. "What ARE you doing?"

Toby just shrugged. His endearingly mischievous grin had ratcheted up quite a few notches: unapologetic, but still somehow not with any real trace of leering or sleaziness, instead managing to come across entirely cheeky, engaging... beguiling, even. "Just a bit of fun," he volunteered.

"It's the middle of the day -- broad daylight!" I admonished.

"That just adds to the fun," he assured me.

I just shook my head, momentarily lost for words, though I couldn't help but match his grin for his sheer, utter cheek. My eyes fell to his member again -- fuck but he was a big boy, long and thick. He had the lightest grasp of himself, treating himself to the occasional stroke, up and down... which he did again as I watched.

"Aren't you worried you'll get caught?" I had to ask, murmuring, leaning slightly closer, again not wanting to get him in trouble -- get the both of us in trouble, should anyone else see us.

"Not really," he returned, also leaning in as he lowered his voice. "I can cover up well before anyone from up front comes within line of sight. I listen out carefully and grab the jacket if there's any movement behind me, to be safe. And I'm sure you'll tell me if anyone's coming and I haven't heard them," he added, smiling as he turned me into his accomplice, aiding and abetting in his exhibitionistic, masturbatory conspiracy.

"Are you sure you can trust me?" I smiled, ever-so-sweetly.

"You wouldn't want me to get in trouble now, would you?" he teased.

"Of course not," I had to allow. "So..." I added, my eyes falling again to his twitching pride. "Is this something you do often?"

"Which part?" Toby asked. "The 'having a play on a train' part... or the 'showing it off' part?"

"Both!" I laughed.

"Well," he smiled at himself. "Showing it off: very rarely. Having a play, staying hidden beneath the jacket: at least once a week, sometimes more."

"Can you not wait until you get home?" I challenged him -- still smiling, and still sneaking glances at his big old cock, though I knew he could see full well I was looking. "Does wrenching on garbage trucks really get you going so bad?"

Toby laughed at that, evidently enjoying my teasing. "It's the thrill," he confided. "Doing something so naughty, in public, only barely covered up, no one realising -- getting away with it. It adds to the pleasure, big time," he confided.

'I bet it does,' I thought to myself -- unwilling to say such a thing though, for risk of showing how increasingly aroused I was becoming in this situation: my heart beating faster, breathing deeper as I took in his shameless display... my pussy moistening, as he stroked his cock again while I watched.

We were pulling into a station, and people around us were getting up to leave, so Toby reached for his jacket and covered up. As he did so, I saw what I hadn't seen before: his far arm disappearing beneath his jacket; the bulge in the jacket being his hand on his cock, right there, to be seen if you were looking for it -- which of course I hadn't been, nor would anyone else really. No one would suspect him capable of such a devilish act, given his nonchalant façade, well-kept looks, genial manner and general air of not doing anything which might otherwise get him arrested.

As a few of our fellow passengers made to go, I couldn't stop myself -- I rose out of my seat and crossed the aisle, sitting in the open seat opposite Toby, face to face. I knew it was a dreadfully encouraging thing to do, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to be closer, to get a better look when that jacket was pulled away again.

And I wasn't disappointed: the people left the carriage, leaving only two or three others around us, well outside earshot and not looking our way. The train pulled away from the station, and Toby shifted his jacket aside again, letting me drink in the sight of his long, veiny, thick, very nice cock.

"You don't mind looking at it, do you?" Toby observed.

I affected a non-committal shrug, though I was sure my eyes confirmed the truth of it for him: I did enjoy looking at his cock, very much so. "So we've covered how often you have a play," I said instead, taking up the conversation where we had left off. "How about... how often do you whip it out for display?"

"Pretty rarely," Toby confessed, stroking his cock lightly again as he spoke. "I really don't want to flash it at an unwilling audience -- there's no thrill in that, imposing myself upon unsuspecting innocents who won't like it. That's a big violation of a person's rights, I'm not about that at all."

"Plus it'll get you arrested," I threw in.

"That's right," Toby laughed. "I've only put myself on show twice, actually."

"Oh yeah?" I echoed, intrigued, splitting my attention evenly between his warm, open face and his doubtlessly warm, naughtily open cock. "How did that go for you?"

"Mixed results. The first time, I struck up a good convo with a nice young lady. She was pretty receptive when I pulled the jacket aside," he reported, still smiling away. "Even came on over and had herself a little fun!"

"Oh did she?" I giggled, conscious of the fact that I had only lived up to half of that story... so far. "How did things end?"

"Aww," he began, suddenly looking rueful. "Once the fun was done, I asked her if she'd like to catch up again later on -- she said thanks but sorry, she had a boyfriend!"

"What?" I cried, outraged on his behalf. "Why that cheating bitch!"

"I know, right?"

"And how about the second time?" I pursued.

"That went much less well," Toby reported, cringing at the memory. "She was an older lady, fifties or so; very fit though, really easy on the eyes. It started off well, she seemed friendly and even a little flirty, and I thought she'd get a thrill from the reveal. Didn't go like that though -- she was very taken aback, then suddenly she was full-on triggered and raging, started yelling at me, all 'how very dare you!', telling everyone around us 'this guy has just pulled out his PENIS!'"

I rocked with silent laughter at the mental image of some older, haughty, toffish-type woman, a picture of outrage as she went off at him and alerted everyone to his cock-out antics. "What did you do?"

"I bolted!" he laughed, his cock twitching marvellously as he chortled away. "I pulled up trou', grabbed my shit and ran. Jumped off at the very next stop and hid in the station's bathroom, convinced she had fetched a train guard and they were coming to haul me off in chains!"

"That would've killed your boner," I reckoned.

"It sure did."

"Did the law come for you?"

"Nah," he assured me, stroking himself as though without conscious thought. "Nothing happened, I got away scot-free -- but for the next few weeks I skipped the train and caught the bus instead."

"Oh I'll bet you did," I grinned. "So you're a bit more selective with your targets for flashing these days, then?"

"Oh yes," Toby nodded, managing to look most serious even as he kept on playing lightly with his exposed cock, right in the middle of a daylight-strewn train carriage. "Realising that I had crossed the line with that lady, that I had put her in a situation she wasn't at all up for -- I felt awful about it, I really did," he confessed, genuinely. "Took me a fair while to build back up to these sorts of hijinks. Even so: these days I do like to at least strike up a convo with people when I've got the meat out and in hand, under the jacket. It really adds to the thrill, big time. Most folk aren't really in a chatty mood though, and fair enough too -- trains suck. But sometimes people don't seem to mind a chat, y'know?" he added, with a smile indicating he was very glad I had been so receptive to a chat -- and more.

"And what made you so sure I wasn't going to jump up and cry foul, once you pulled 'the big reveal' on me?" I asked of him.

"You can never be sure," he allowed. "It's always a big risk, which again, is a huge riling thrill -- my adrenaline was pumping so hard when I was gearing up to flash you, I thought I was in for a coronary," he confessed, making me laugh again. "But I don't know -- I guess while you and I were talking, I thought I saw something in your eye. Something encouraging, welcoming. Maybe, like a kindred spirit?" he added, goading.

"Oh really?" I returned, archly. "I've just got that look about me that says 'she'll enjoy an eyeful of my big old cock', do I?"

He laughed at that, even as I saw his face light up as I paid him praise for his impressive member. "I didn't mean it like that," he tried to cover.

"Sure sure. You just looked me up and down and thought 'this bird looks easy, let's flash her and fuck the consequences, brag about it to the boys in the shop tomorrow', eh?" I teased.

"It wasn't like that, I'm not like that at all," Toby assured me, with good humour. "But enough about me -- what about you? Have you never found yourself of a mood to try something a bit naughty when you're out and about?"

"Me? A filthy depraved flasher?" I asked, in tones of mock-affront -- but then I thought about it. "Aww, maybe something a little like it, perhaps..."

"Maybe, perhaps?" he probed, grinning as he gave his cock a quick little pump -- rougher than he had been treating himself, up until now. "Ooh, do tell!"

I don't know why I was being so open with him, or so receptive of his flashing bad behaviour. There was something about him... the glint in his eye, the otherwise-respectfulness of his approach and manner, and of course the gorgeousness of that cock. "Well," I began. "There might be the odd occasion where I might venture out into the world, in a dress or skirt, with no knickers."

"Going commando?" Toby asked with delight, quoting that famous old episode of FRIENDS. "That's brilliant! And what would make a lovely sweet young lady do such a wicked thing?" he added, grinning hugely at sharing in my own sordid little secret.

"Oh, I'm sure you know," I returned, trying not to blush as I instantly regretted my openness. What was I doing? "It's just: the thrill of getting out and about, doing something a little bit naughty, a little bit wicked, with no-one knowing... the sensations of being bare down there, free to the fresh air, feeling the breeze slide up my dress to caress my bits... feeling my dress move and touch me, cling to me, kiss me down there and knowing it briefly conforms to me, shows off my shapes and my contours, knowing that at any second someone walking by might catch a glimpse of how I look down there... seeing what my pussy looks like..." I stopped there -- I realised I was getting a little carried away by the memory, my mound moistening ever-more as I thought back on the thrill of braving the world with my box to the air.

I wasn't the only one getting carried away -- Toby was stroking his cock quite hard now, his eyes unfocused as his mind painted pictures of me walking about, my dress or skirt clinging to my sex and showing me off to all and sundry. "That's so hot," he said shortly, full of praise. "Any chance you might be 'going commando' right now?" he added, his eyes falling to my own crotch as though searching for confirmation.

"Afraid not," I informed him, smiling all the same.

"Are you sure?" he challenged.

I knew what he was pressing for. And I knew I really shouldn't be indulging this guy, who seemed completely unabashed about pulling his cock out in public and showing it to innocent young women after barely fifteen minutes of banter.

Even so: I reached down, grabbed the hem of my lovely red sundress, and quickly pulled it up to prove that I was, in fact, wearing underwear that day -- quite a nice black lacy pair, as good fortune would have it.

Toby drank in the sight of me, flashing my knickers at him, and he pumped his cock a few times more. "Thanks for the gander," he grinned.

"Least I could do," I told him, "considering the show you've put on for me."

We were pulling into another station, so we both had to rearrange ourselves to present a more demure picture; I let my dress fall back into place, and Toby's jacket was dragged back across the incredibly riling, muscular, inverted-triangle of his lap. "I'm glad you're enjoying the show," Toby told me, as the last few people around us in the carriage headed out, leaving us alone.

"I am," I told him. I didn't mind telling him now -- flashing my knickers at him had thrilled me greatly. I had been toey before; I was horny as hell now, and I was sure it was showing in my eyes.

Even as we sat together, the train seeming to take forever to expel its passengers and get going again, my eyes kept falling to the tell-tale tent beneath his jacket, and the way his hand moved beneath it as he kept his ardour on the boil. "You can't wait to see it again, can you?" he observed, loving that he had me so hooked.

"I really can't," I said, simply.

Without a word -- before the train had started moving again, and with people still ambling unheedingly past our window on the platform outside -- Toby moved the jacket aside again, bringing his cock back into full view.

"Toby!" I hissed. "They might see it!"

He shrugged. "I don't care if they see it," he replied, matter-of-fact. "You want to see it, and I don't want to deny you."

He was thrilling me immensely, taking this huge risk, right there in front of me. "Fuck this is hot," I murmured, unable to wrest my eyes from his shameless display.

"My cock is aching, it's so hard," he told me. "This is such a huge kick, Emma. I'm sure 'going commando' was thrilling for you, too. But until you've put yourself to the air, in public, where anyone might see... you haven't lived," he grinned.