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Subject: {ASSM} New  "Subway Sweetness" by Ray1031 (MF Rom)
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Subway Sweetness  by Ray1031  (MF Cons)
(C) Nov 2001

The following story contains descriptions of sex and sexual 
situations. You must be over eighteen to read this.

If it is illegal or against your beliefs to read this, then don't.

Permission is given for reposting of this story to Free site, 
meaning no access fees or AVS required to gain entry,
provided the Author's name and information and any copyright 
information remain intact and attached as written.

Subway Sweetness   by Ray1031   (MF Cons)
(C) Nov 2001

I was working in Japan and daily had to ride the subway trains 
back and forth to work. It was July and ungodly hot, with 
humidity levels off the scale. During the morning and afternoon 
rush hours, the trains were horrible. Always packed to 
capacity, plus extra people. The subways were so over-worked 
and over-packed, that they hired 'packers'. During rush hours, 
these people showed up in uniforms, with little white pith 
helmets on their heads and did their jobs on the subway 
platforms. Their jobs? Train packing. When everyone had 
squeezed into a car, and it was obvious that no one else could 
fit, it was there job to force another two or three bodies into 
each car, literally tugging and pushing people to make them fit 
like sardines in a can. 

Luckily, I boarded the train a few stops before it became 
completely packed and before these people did their jobs. I 
would position myself at an upright pole and stay there until 
my stop which also happened to be after some of the crowding 
abated, so it was easy to get to a door. In between though, 
people were packed in so tightly, that for one person to move 
to a door, eight to twelve people had to shuffle in tight 
circles to allow them to pass. A New York pick pocket would 
have loved that ride.

After I'd been there a few weeks, I began noticing that the 
same woman was being pressed against me on almost every ride. 
When I first happened to notice her, on a morning ride it was 
because of her perfume. It was heady and was all I could smell 
during the trip to work. Considering myself lucky that it 
wasn't stale raw fish or burnt rice breath, I didn't try to 
adjust my position (not that I could have). 

I did try not to notice her contact with me, though. Her 
buttocks were pressed tightly to my right thigh. Her left 
shoulder and back was resting against my chest, and her right 
hand was resting lightly against the crotch of my pants. With 
the swaying of the train, I don't know how I managed to make 
that ride without a hard on. I think it might have helped that 
I did not look at her. I kept my head high and straight, 
looking over her head and trying to watch the buildings pass
through the window. Like those around me I was maintaining 
the anonymity of the situation. 

That afternoon, I assumed my normal position, pole at my 
back, feet slightly spread for balance, arms relaxed at my 
sides as the train began it's usual forty minute trip to my 
stop. At the next stop, I noticed that perfume again. Much 
more subdued than this morning, but noticeable on the breeze 
as the doors opened and people boarded. There was only one 
woman in the group and I thought she was stunning. Bright 
yellow, skin tight summer sweater. Obviously bought too small 
by the way it hugged her figure, the knit spreading slightly 
throughout and revealing peeks of a black brassiere beneath. 
Flat pink hot pants so tight I thought she'd have to lube up 
and use a shoe horn to get into them. Her thighs flaring 
slightly where they exited the leg opening and simple nude 
hose added a soft shimmer as they sheathed her shapely legs 
to the tops of her three inch yellow heels. 

Her black hair was not long. In fact, the cut was almost 
mannish in it's shortness and styling, parted slightly to one 
side of her head, and laying across her brow in a wave very 
similar to my own hair style. Make up lightly and tastefully 
applied, highlighted her beauty, rather than making it. 

She glanced towards me as she entered and took a position 
standing beside an open seat, holding the rail at the end of 
the bench. At this point, there were no more than a dozen 
people in the car. The influx began at the next stop. As 
people crowded into the car, she moved from her position 
taking two steps closer to me and grasping an overhead strap.

I believe I was doing a good job of non-attention, eyes cast 
downwards to a newspaper from home in my hand. Yet observing 
her movements from one eye's corner. Next stop. It was getting 
crowded now, and as people boarded the train she moved to a 
position directly before me. The paper I folded and stuck 
into a back pocket beneath the jacket, as always, to conserve
space. The tips, just the tips of her high thick looking breasts 
were just touching my lower chest through her sweater. Looking 
down I found her eyes had closed and her mouth was slightly 
open as the train swayed in its travels. I'd love to think I 
felt her nipples hardening against my chest, but know I didn't. 
Wearing a light Sport Coat, shirt and T-shirt, and her in the 
sweater and a brassiere, there were simply too many layers of 
clothing, and too light a touch.

The next stop was the first of the sardine stops. As soon 
as the doors opened, before the departing passengers had 
finished exiting and the first of the boarding passengers 
came aboard she had moved into me. Crushing her breasts 
against my chest and molding her torso and hips to mine. 
Her feet came to either side of my left leg as her pelvis 
thrust forward into it. Her right hand went behind me to 
the upright chrome pole as her left moved directly to my 
crotch and rested there. 

As soon as she began to move I raised my eyes, pretending 
to look over her head, but keeping her fully in my lower 
peripheral vision as she snuggled in against me. She looked 
up askance for a moment, then simply laid her head against 
my upper chest as the train swayed on. 

She held that position, not moving, not squeezing or rubbing 
any more than the simple movements of the train ride caused. 
Simply standing against me in as complete a contact as she 
could manage unobtrusively. There were four sardine stops, 
roughly 30 minutes of the trip. As soon as the crowd began 
to lighten, she first stood away from me until it was 
simply breast contact again. At the next stop, she moved 
away, back to the bench seat railing. The stop before mine 
she exited. 

For the next week I watched and experienced the same dance 
twice daily. My attire was always basically the same, pants, 
shirt, and sport jacket, sometimes with tie, most often not. 
This was for work, after all. Her attire varied quite a bit, 
but basically was always made up of pants or shorts, with a 
tight top of some kind. Mornings, her perfume was heady, 
strong, almost over-powering. Afternoons, it was more subtle 
and profoundly alluring, but it was always the same scent. We 
did not make eye contact, and did not speak.

Monday of the following week, I made a change to things. At 
the second sardine stop, another passenger jostled her from 
the side. I didn't think about it, I simply wrapped my arms 
around her and held her as the train hit one of it's numerous 
'sway' points. Her arm behind me had tightened at the jostling 
and the one at my crotch moved to my other hip for a stable 
hold. As my arms closed around her, she looked up and for the 
first time our eyes met. 

I did not squeeze, nor did I release her. I simply stood 
looking into her eyes for a moment before once again looking 
out the windows, my arms yet around her, almost protectively. 
Her head returned to my chest and her hand to my crotch as 
the ride continued. At the normal stop, as the press withdrew, 
so did she, yet our dance had changed. 

The rest of the week was basically a repeat of the earlier 
days, with the exception being that as she moved in tight to 
me my arms went around her. Her hand behind me, instead of 
holding the chrome pole, was flat to my back. No smiles, no 
words, no extra gestures, simply a gentle cuddle twice daily. 
It making the rides more enjoyable.

Evenings, sitting alone in my apartment, in a restaurant or
while striking out in one of the local clubs, I'd often find
my thoughts turning to her and our twice daily dances on the 
subway trains. I so wanted to know more of her, to speak to 
her, to bed her. But she was the initiator. The moves and 
contact had all been hers, her choices, her will and somehow
I knew if I were to push, even the least little bit, it would
all end. That was something I did not wish to face. So I 
maintained my passive attitudes, beyond adding the gentlest
of squeezes, a minor hug, at each of our partings, I made no 
overt advances of my own.

It was Wednesday morning two weeks later that an interruption
occurred. When she arrived on the train, she was holding a 
kerchief to her nose and as the doors closed she sneezed. She 
was wearing looser clothing and no make up. Her eyes were 
puffy, and her nose was red, slightly swollen. She looked 
miserable indeed. I was actually looking forward to our cuddle, 
planning a few extra squeezes to try and cheer her as we rode, 
but as soon as she entered, she sat and I knew there would 
be no cuddle that day.

Thursday and Friday she did not ride the train. I felt both
alone and lonely, saddened almost beyond measure and almost
worthless at work, being distracted in the extreme, my 
thoughts locked away elsewhere.

The following Monday, she was back with a vengeance. Dark 
raspberry tube top, obviously braless, with a bright white 
mini-skirt and white shoes. No hose or socks that I could 
detect. She made direct eye contact and smiled as soon as 
she entered the car. She was carrying a single piece of 
paper in her hand, and as soon as she was in her normal 
position at the bench rail, she dropped it. Looking 
momentarily beyond me and around the car, she stepped 
beyond the paper, turned her back to me and bent from the 
waist to retrieve it. The view thus afforded took my breath 

Her forward bend was done slowly, purposefully with legs 
together and what appeared to be practiced motions. Her 
white skirt rising slowly like a curtain in a fine theater 
play. Revealing first the tops of her thighs, then the tips 
of fine silky black hairs came into view. The full length 
and thickness of her fur coat was revealed as her plump 
vaginal lips and the edge of her buttocks came into view 
simultaneously. The display continued to unveil itself 
before my startled eyes until fully half the length of her 
vagina was revealed. Then she had her paper and straightened
stepping back to the bench before turning to see my reaction.

I had been happy that she was turned away from me during the 
unveiling, as it allowed me a precious moment to recover 
from my surprise. When she finally turned she met only a 
slightly raised eyebrow, a small grin and what I hoped were 
smiling eyes. 

As the crowd increased, the dance began playing itself out 
normally. She moving first to within steps of me. Her eyes 
occasionally travelling to my face, which I was once again 
holding impassive. Then to within breast touch, and finally 
into our normal full contact. In the past she had always 
kept her arm and body contact to the outside of my sports 
jacket as we stood. Today, her arm went inside my jacket 
and encircled my waist. My left arm travelled to it's normal 
place behind her back, but she trapped my right arm and 
guided my hand to the front of her short skirt before 
placing her left hand in it's customary position over my 

The hand was not still today as she pulled herself tightly 
to me, but hidden by the length of my jacket was rubbing 
slowly and squeezing gently at my scrotum. Her hips, 
instead of pulling tight against my leg, she held back 
slightly, allowing me to use my fingers to raise the front 
of her skirt slightly for access to the treasures beneath. 

Once there, I found her legs together and some access 
denied to me. I satisfied myself with rubbing small 
circles at the front of her Labia, varying the pressure 
and direction from time to time to vary the stimulation. 
Twice during that ride I was sure I felt her breath catch. 
My hard-on rose, coming into a painful, half-folded 
position beneath her hand. She adjusted the position for 
me as it stiffened and it was quite comfortable again. 

For the thirty minutes of our sardine ride, we each continued 
our ministrations. Twice I almost came, but managed to hold on 
to my marginal control. It would not have been a comfortable 
day had I begun it with sticky shorts and pants. As the press 
lightened, before she began her normal dance away from me, she 
hugged me tightly, quickly, then moved to breast length. 
Looking down I saw the finest patina of sweat beaded on her 
upper lip and across one temple. Her hand moved in a quick 
motion to insure her skirt was straight.

Next move and I was buttoning my Jacket to hide the bulge 
in my pants. When I looked her lips formed the smallest of 
smiles. Looking further down, her upper thighs glistened 
slightly just below her skirt's hem. There were two very 
obvious points in the front of her tube top. Two more stops 
and she was gone to wherever she went each day and I had 
pleasant thoughts 'til my departure at the next stop, a 
truly wonderful beginning to my day's labors.

That afternoon, when she boarded the train she was dressed 
the same, with the addition of a knee length knitted sweater 
vest in a white that matched her skirt and shoes. 

The dance progressed normally, and I must admit that I was 
already hard when she reached me. She again cuddled tight, 
inside my jacket, only this time she stood with her legs 
parted, her rubbing hand went into her vest pocket and 
through. Apparently she had removed or cut open the pocket 
just for this, so her hand was fully hidden as she not only 
rubbed, but squeezed gently jacking me as well, stopping 
every few minutes so I wouldn't actually orgasm. 

My hand was travelling the length and breadth of her labia 
and vagina. rubbing and gently pinching all. Finding and 
flicking or rubbing at her clitoris. Entering her with some
times one finger and sometimes two. Her lower lip seemed 
permanently trapped between her teeth. I was finding it 
increasingly difficult to maintain what I hoped was my 
normal impassive expression as I looked out the windows 
and scanned the crowd around us. No one seemed to notice. 

Just before our parting dance, she spoke her first words 
to me. "Do you speak Japanese?"


"Thank you. I will see you again, tomorrow." She once again 
danced away and I was buttoning my coat.

Thursday morning and she boarded the train in an almost subdued
more demure attitude about her. Some of the boldness she'd 
been showing seemed to be missing from her demeanor. Her eyes
were downcast, and she didn't glance in my direction on 
entering the car. Her attire was also changed and of a much 
more conservative cut than she'd previously worn, for the
most part that is. 

Her outfit this morning consisted of a vest, skirt, top 
combination. The skirt was of some grey linen-like material 
that extended to her knees, a very tight, narrow cut, well-
tailored affair that seemed taken from a 1940's movie. The vest, 
from a matching material, was also finely-tailored and held 
closed by two buttons just below breast level. Even her hose had 
a light greyish hue to them and disappeared into a pair of plain 
black flat shoes, the first non-heels I'd seen her wearing. The 
only detractor from the basic conservative nature of attire, was 
her top, beneath the vest, which appeared to be another simple 
white tube top. As she walked into the car and raised her hand 
to the rail beside the bench seat, there was a momentary glimpse 
of bare midriff along the lower edge of her short vest.

She stood with her shoulders slumped, with her chin lowered and 
her face and eyes downcast she had a dejected almost defeated 
look about her as she held her position and missed the first 
steps of her by now standard dance. Across the distance I could
see a single tear at the corner of one eye as she stood chewing 
on her lower lip. Her look was one of almost unendurable sorrow. 

At the next stop, I took the initiative and moved as the doors
opened. Making it seem that I was being forced towards the 
doorway by departing passengers, I moved to within a few steps of
her before stepping sideways, out of the moving flow. Reaching up 
I took hold of a hanging strap and waited for the next stop, the 
first of the true sardine press stops. So intent was she on her 
own thoughts, on whatever it was that so troubled her, that she
had not noticed my moving and although I stood no more than two
feet from her and my shoes and lower body had to be within even her
lowered area of vision she appeared completely unaware of my 
presence. It wasn't until the train began slowing for the next 
stop that she finally looked up slightly and became aware of me, 
following the line of my legs upwards with her eyes, past my open 
sport jacket and finally to my face and eyes. 

For the briefest moment, a variety of emotions played across her
lovely features, a confused realization, followed by pleasure, 
yet finally supplanted again by the sorrow. Her lips parted as if 
she were about to speak, her head moved minutely as if for a 
negative shake, the corners of her lips moved first upwards, then 
down slightly, all in a matter of a single moment as the car 
finished coming to a stop and the doors opened.

The cars that we rode in were designed so that there was the barest
of spaces between the edges of the doors and the railing beside the 
long bench seats. No more than a foot in total width, there wasn't 
supposed to be room for people to stand in this narrow space, yet
as the doors opened, it was into this space that I backed her. As
I stepped forward, she moved away until her back was wedged into the 
corner formed by the wall and the seat, her hands coming together
between her breasts as the open flaps of my jacket spread around
the outsides of her shoulders and upper body. With my left hand I 
grasped both the jacket edge and the handrail just where it joined
the train's wall, as my right hand performed a similar move with
the other jacket flap and an abbreviated upright rail just inside 
the trains doorway. I was not quite touching her, yet she was 
completely encased and obscured by my body and my surrounding 
jacket. Almost, I thought she was going to duck under my arm and
out the open doorway beside us. She seemed unsure of my intent 
and movements as if she feared me becoming an aggressor.

I had to brace myself then. Using my arms and slightly spread legs
to prevent my being forced more tightly against her and holding
firm to the upright railing as one of the 'packers' tried to pull
me loose and force me further into the car. I wasn't moved and we
stayed in that position as the doors closed and the train began to

Between that station and the next neither of us moved. My head was 
slightly downcast, eyes gazing at the wall just above her head so 
I could observe her using my lower vision as I held myself inches 
away from her, surrounding her but not touching her except where 
the narrowness of the space forced my inner wrists against her 
shoulders. Her eyes remained locked to the center of my chest as 
she continued to clasp her hands over one another in the small 
valley between her breasts. For long minutes her breathing was deep, 
coming in gasping gulps of air as an over-all tension seemed to have 
it's grip on her body. Mouse-like, she was drawing her shoulders 
inwards, pushing her back hard against the sheet steel grey walls 
behind her, seeming to want to shrink away from me or the very 
thought of me. Twice I saw her hands move towards my chest as if to 
push me away, yet withdraw and return to their valley without quite 
touching me. Although I could not see them, I had the feeling her 
eyes were wide and round as she held herself so tightly to the wall 
that even the normal swaying of the car could not cause even an 
incidental contact between us.

Finally, just as the feel of the drive motors disengaging beneath
my feet announced the short coasting before braking for the next 
stop, a kind of shiver seemed to pass through her. She raised her 
head then and looked up into my face, searchingly, and I lowered 
my eyes to look softly into her own. As our eyes met, whatever dam 
of pent up emotion was locked within her seemed to give way and a 
visible sob passed through her chest and shoulders as she moved 
into me. Sliding her arms behind my back and pulling herself to my 
chest, she began to cry as great wracking sobs and shudders passed 
through her and the moisture of her released tears soaked through my 
shirt. I could feel the movement of her stomach against my abdomen 
as it first completely withdrew from contact, then returned to 
flutter and shake against me. 

She was lost in a full on over-powering bawl, and as much as I 
wanted to hold and comfort her further, I could not ... for if I 
were to have released my holds on the railings to either side of 
us, we would have been moved from our position as we passed through 
the following stations. She would have been exposed and we may 
actually have been separated with the movement of the surrounding 

I simply held on and she hugged me close and continued to cry 
and sob throughout what remained of our journey through the sardine
stops. I remained in that position beyond the point where we would
normally have parted. The car was still crowded, though there was
enough space to allow 'air' between passengers. But she had yet
to stop crying, and I believed she had lost track of time and 
location so deep was she in whatever sorrow that had gripped her.
As soon as the train had pulled away from the station and was 
moving smoothly once again, I took a small risk and released the
left railing to retrieve a kerchief from my inner jacket pocket.
Placing my fingers under her chin, I raised her head until her
eyes met mine and raised an eyebrow. It took long seconds from 
that point, but finally she came to herself, moving away against
the wall behind her once again where she accepted the proffered 
kerchief and began rubbing at her tear streaked face. 

 From somewhere, she actually produced a small mirror and examined
herself before wetting the fabric with her tongue and wiping at 
her streaked mascara. Clearing the majority of the damage she 
made a face at herself in the mirror, shrugged her shoulders 
minutely and reached into my jacket, slipping the used kerchief 
into a pocket. She raised her eyes to mine and smiled once before 
sorrow once again showed through and she began to lower her eyes. 
It was then that we saw the damage she had done to my shirt. Tear 
soaked and streaked in lines of blue and black with heavy smears 
of tannish face powders below it looked like nothing so much as 
some ocean shore mosaic I'd once seen in a coffee shop back home 
and may well have been completely ruined by the morning's episode. 
A look of chagrin and concern appeared as she looked into my eyes 
and one finger gently touched the stained area.

The doors were opening at that moment though, and I gently stepped 
away from her as I deftly engaged one button on my jacket and with
a grin wrinkled my nose at her. The top of the stained area was 
just visible above the buttoned jacket, but that couldn't be 
helped as I took two small steps back and one to the side (almost a
foxtrot move), because of the jostling crowd. Reaching for an over-
head strap for support I was once again simply another relaxed rider. 
She seemed lost in her sorrow and I studiously avoided any direct 
interest until the doors opened and she departed. She looked like 
nothing so much as a young student dispatched to the principal's 
office unfairly.

That afternoon, as she entered the car, she was smiling broadly.
There appeared to be a new resolve about her as if she had come
to some decision and was gladdened by it. With one hand on the 
railing beside her, and the other hanging nonchalantly beside
her grey skirt, she managed to catch my eye and unobtrusively
moved two fingers of her hanging hand to indicate that I should 
again move to her, rather than she to me. As the train moved
through it's first series of stops, this is exactly what I did
until we were once again standing with her hidden by my jacket 
and her back against the wall. 

No sooner were we in position, with her obscured from view, then 
she unbuttoned her vest tucking the flaps behind her and against 
the wall. Her hands moved then to her left side and the hooks 
securing her skirt, releasing them, unzipping the skirt she let 
the waistband fall free, it's position now held only by the 
pressure of her buttocks against the wall behind her. As the front 
of the waistband sagged down, it revealed a black lace garter belt 
and matching black bikini panties, a few individual pubic hairs 
curling whisp-like over the top elastic band. Hooking her thumbs 
into the elastic, she pulled the panties out and away from herself, 
providing a clear view of a thick tangle of heavy black matted 
hairs looking for all the world like a three inch wide, neatly 
trimmed racing stripe leading to the hidden treasures below. I 
groaned in my throat, bringing a sudden smile to her lips and a 
devilish glint to her eyes. 

Releasing her panties, she transferred her hands to her hips, 
and shifting slightly rolled the fabric downward until it was 
gathered taut just below her hips and buttocks, the bottom panel 
resembling a small trampoline between her slightly parted thighs. 
Moving to the tube top wrapping her breasts she slid it down, 
freeing them to the air and my sight. This was the first glimpse 
I'd had of these delectable morsels and I found them enticing 
indeed. Standing proud and firm, they extended not far from
her chest, yet appeared wide and thick with broad flat areole and
heavy, already rigid nipples extending straight out from their
centers. Her smooth, almost glossy skin was slightly flushed 
as she thus exposed herself and I found what I could see to
be completely blemish free. Thankfully, I had begun the habit
of repositioning my 'equipment' before boarding the train this
time, so, as I hardened, there was no real discomfort. 

Once fully exposed to my view, she grasped her nipples with
the sides of her fingers and thumbs and pulled, twisting them,
rather savagely I thought, as she did so. Unbelievingly, to 
me, they actually became a little longer and firmer seeming
to twitch momentarily in place as she released them. My 
already rigid cock gave another surge at the sight, only my
underwear keeping it from making a tent of my slacks. She
began to slide her right hand towards her pelvis and reached
forward with her left, as if checking the condition and 
reaction of my cock to her display. As she felt it and tried 
to close her hand about it, she smiled. 

Her other hand moved straight to her crotch at that point, and 
as I watched she held her pinkie straight and rigid as she 
curled the other three under and seemed to 'push' suddenly, the
hand mostly disappearing beneath her. The heal of her hand was
pressed tightly against her lower pelvis and moved against her,
sliding the thick matt of hair and the skin below as it rotated
in tight quick circles. No more than a dozen heartbeats later,
and her hand stopped as her lower stomach jerked once, twice,
three times against the inside of her wrist, a small shiver 
passing through her upper body and breasts, the nipples there
gently quivering with the passing tremor. 

Long seconds she stood unmoving, then her palm relaxed away from 
her groin as she began quickly plunging her fingers into herself. 
Her left hand began moving back and forth between her breasts,
squeezing and pulling at them, twisting the nipples savagely as 
she frigged herself there in the crowded train. We arrived at the 
second sardine stop and passed beyond it with her never missing a 
stroke. Sweat was standing out across her forehead and upper lip
small droplets sliding their slow way down her cheeks as she 
seemed to be trying to hurry herself to completion. Occasional 
small slapping sounds rising between us when she forgot and plunged
her fingers too far, too fast. Finally, before we reached the next 
stop, she reached her goal, pressing herself backwards, harder 
against the wall and her shoulders outwards against my wrists, I
felt she was trying to keep from collapsing under the physical
and emotional overload she seemed to be experiencing.

I squeezed my wrists inward as much as I dared, trying to help her
but not able to do too much for fear of changing the nonchalant 
outward appearance or the hang of my coat and stance. Watching, 
I saw her mouth open wide, her tongue extending straight outwards, 
eyes rolling upwards and back into her head as her legs twitched 
and her entire upper body jerked and shivered through what seemed 
an almost over-powering experience. Small squeaks were coming from 
deep in her throat as I felt she was fighting against literally 
screaming or crying out loud through the seeming fit she was 
having. Finally though, as we slowed into the next station, she 
came down from it all and began repossessing her own body, her 
eyes rolled back down and a spark of life and intelligence 
reappeared there, her breathing, which she had held for long 
minutes began again with a deep shuddering gasp. 

As the doors opened and people began squeezing in and out of the
car again, bumping and scraping against me, I held firm as she 
looked up into my eyes and smiled broadly, contentedly and impishly
at the same time. With people moving and jostling around us, she
again pumped her still imbedded fingers within herself, the wet
squishy sounds plainly visible to my ears and, I thought, to those 
moving in and out of the car around us. Yet no one seemed to 
notice. She only did this for a few moments before she removed her 
obviously sopping fingers and raised her hand to her mouth, 
inserting her ring finger and sucking it dry. As she did this, she 
raised her eyes to mine and deftly raised one eyebrow. As the 
doors closed beside us and the train took it's first lurch forward, 
I lowered my head to my chest, as if tired, and opened my mouth as 
she raised her hand and guided her middle and index fingers into 
my mouth where I tongued and sucked the gathered fluids from them. 
Pure sweet ambrosia.

Quickly, as the distance between these last sardine stops was 
measured in short minutes and the next was the start of our first 
moves apart, she reached into my inner jacket pocket finding a fresh, 
clean handkerchief. Using this, she blotted at the sweat gathered on 
her forehead, face and neck, wiped it from her upper chest and 
breasts, and finally finished drying her hand before reaching between 
her legs and wiping at the fluids coating the outside of her pussy 
and inner thighs. Frowning at the now soaked rag, she returned it to 
my pocket before lowering her hands and rolling her panties back into 
place, refastening her skirt and adjusting it and finally shifting 
her top back into position just as we arrived at the station and the 
door opened. It saddened me. It was like watching my mother lock 
away my favorite toys as a child and I still wanted to play more.

Leaning forward and into me, she wrapped her arms about my back
and refused to allow me to begin our parting moves, standing close 
and trembling against me as the crowd began to thin around us. We 
stood thus, unmoving and her again crying against my shirt until 
just minutes before the next station, when she moved back slightly 
wiped at her eyes and softly spoke to me.

"Tomorrow morning, stand at the back wall of the car. Wear your
jacket over your shoulders, but keep your arms free. I'm sorry
about your shirt." The doors opened and without a word of my own,
I moved away, buttoning my jacket once again as I went. The dance 
once again in motion as our ride again neared it's completion. 

I felt a deep desire for our daily rides, wanting them and enjoying 
the excitement of them, however, they were also becoming greatly
more dangerous and frustrating, especially as I did not currently
have a girlfriend was having to daily take matters in hand to reduce 
the gathering pressures. I wouldn't have changed it for the world, 

Friday morning, when I stepped onto the train, I moved to one corner
at the back of the car and waited to see what her plans were for
this morning, my jacket was hanging loosely from my shoulders, my 
hands in my pants pockets to keep them from twitching about in
sheer nervousness. When her stop arrived and the door wooshed open 
I looked up to watch for her entry and as she entered the car, I 
was momentarily stunned by what I saw. She was dressed in what I 
believe was the shortest low-cut, wrap around mini-dress I think 
I'd ever seen, in a bright orangish-pink floral pattern, it ended 
mere inches below her buttocks, and pussy. From the front I fancied 
I could see an individual hair or two playing hide and seek as she 
walked. I was soon to learn the folly of this observation.

She was also wearing what I knew were the tallest platform shoes 
I had ever seen outside of a Circus. Of a bright red patent like 
material, they had to be a full eight inches high at the heel, 
bringing her head and eyes to an even level with mine and making 
her legs look miles longer, trimmer and sexier than at any time 
since our rather interesting liaison had begun. She ended in the 
corner directly across the aisle from me and stood with her back 
to the wall. 

As the ride progressed, she stood with one hand on a saucily 
cocked hip and a very coquettish look on her face. Pelvis thrust 
forward and smiling broadly, she hardly even tried to hide the 
openly flirtatious looks she was passing me. She even winked at 
one point, just before the dance officially started. Soon enough 
though, the moment arrived and with a movement of her head she 
indicated I was to come to her once again.

As I slowly drew near, I removed my hands from my pockets and 
shifted my elbows forward so the flaps of my sport coat stood 
straight out before me and slid to either side of her shoulders 
as I neared. As soon as the jacket moved around her she began 
moving, even though we were yet to arrive at the first true 
sardine stop. Her movements were so quick, almost frantic, that
I looked quickly to the sides to see if we were being noticed by
the other passengers. An Old man to my left met my eyes for a 
moment before returning to his paper, disinterested. It was the 
only 'interest' I saw.

Untying the knot holding her wrap-around dress closed, she allowed 
it to fall open revealing a bright red satiny half cup brassiere 
with the hook in the front, and no panties. She also revealed some
thing else to me ... her pubic hair was gone. During the night, she 
had carefully removed every hair from her pubic region and it was 
now as bald as an egg, a fact I first found to be disappointing. I'm 
a bush man, plain and simple. I had found the thick black, almost 
impenetrable tangle of her previous racing stripe very sexy, this 
was sexy too though, if only marginally less so for me. It was so 
obviously pleasing to her to have sprung her surprise in this manner 
and I was hardly going to spoil the mood over something so trivial. 

It was then, that I saw two large pieces of tape stuck to her stomach, 
beneath the edge of her brassiere. I was trying to puzzle them out 
when she peeled one loose. It was an inside out loop of tape, with a 
continuous glue surface around it's outer surface. She stuck the piece 
in her hand to the outside of one elbow, then pulled my coat flap to 
it and glued my jacket in place before repeating the process with the 
other piece of tape and jacket flap, negating any necessity for either 
one of us to hold the jacket in an obscuring position. 

Grinning, at her creativity I think, she reached forward and began 
working to unzip my fly as I, for my part, placed my hands on her 
sides and began running them gently up and down before trailing the 
fingers of my right hand across her belly and along the line formed 
by the bottom of her bra. She had my trousers unzipped and had inserted 
her right hand within as I began trailing the fingers of my right hand 
southward towards her newly bared treasures. As her right hand made it 
within my briefs and took hold of my rapidly rising prick, her left 
hand caught and held mine, stopping it's downward slide. With a rather 
deft and gentle twisting pull, she brought my cock out into the open 
and released both it and my hand.

Reaching to her brassiere, she cupped her left hand under her breast 
as she used her right to slip the hook free. A small tube fell from 
the bra cup into her upraised palm as the cups of her brassiere slid 
around under her arms, baring her breasts as well. Deftly opening the 
tube, she squeezed about half of it's contents into her palm and 
recapped it, the sweet smell of mint drifted up to my nostrils as she 
rubbed the gel across her palms. The smell was so pungent I quickly
looked around again looking for signs of interest in our fellow riders.
As I was looking about, she took my right hand and began rubbing my 
it and my fingers with the gel, it seemed to be some sort of lubricant, 
which she liberally applied to each finger and my thumb individually, 
and then to the entire hand at once. She guided my hand down and 
between her legs, as she guided my hands, her weight shifted as she 
moved her feet to about shoulder width apart and then deftly spread 
her knees and squatted slightly providing freer access. 

Using the palm of my hand, I began by simply rubbing my palm and 
fingers over the entire area from the front of her vulva back to the 
area before and around her anus, gently and completely covering and 
coating her lips as I slowly moved deeper and deeper between them, 
coating everything from her prominent clitoris to the entrance of her 
canal. Meanwhile, she had reopened the tube and placed another small 
dab into her palm spreading it quickly and then grasping my cock and
beginning a slow even stroke as it finished hardening under her 
ministrations. Once hard she simply held me, her hand remained steady 
as the gentle swaying of the train on it's tracks caused me to slowly 
fuck her greased hand, without any further effort. 

I had two fingers within her, fucking and twisting away, each plunge 
within slightly different than the one before, moving the fingers at 
odd angles, crossing and uncrossing them to slightly change the effect. 
Exploring the canal, finding it's small inner channels, it's bumps, 
grooves and seeming rivulets, seeking those most sensitive areas which 
can seem so elusively different from woman to woman. My eyes were 
locked on hers, watching them, studying them and maintaining awareness 
of her entire face as I sought out the clues to her pleasure, seeking 
not to miss any of the minor cues to the sparks of her passion.

With my left hand crossed before me, I was exploring her left breast, 
even as she raised her own left hand to manipulate and stimulate her 
right one. Long minutes we continued, exploring her body together, her 
left hand first on her breast, then dipping down to wiggle and pinch 
at her greasy clitoris, moving to shift our weight slightly, 
maintaining our balance easily as the train swayed on it's journey. 
Moving again, to shift our weight in unison as the engines below 
the car powered down and the brakes came into play for our arrival 
at the next station. 

As the train came to a complete halt and the doors opened for 
departing and boarding passengers, her left hand moved again, 
sliding along the inside of my right palm, molding itself to 
the shape of my hand and joining it in the plunging explorations 
of her inner reaches. She was now accepting four fingers, two of 
her own as well those of mine. Her right hand, yet remaining 
immobile, the only perceptible changes in her grip being 
alternating changes in the strength and tightness of that greasy 
grip on my shaft. 

Concerned at the actions we were taking and the sounds she was
beginning to make, I glanced around as best I could, without being 
too obvious about it. Though I couldn't turn my head much, there 
was a small advertising sign at eye level just to my left and I 
was able to use it's glossy covering as something like a mirror.
Surprisingly, to me at least, no one seemed to be noticing the
actions in our little corner. 

As the doors closed we made another small shift to accommodate
the movement as the train began it's journey once again. That
is, in itself, the true sign of the daily subway commuter, 
the ability to stand, unsupported and without handhold within
the car as it travelled, maintaining your balance and position
through minute shifts of weight only. In it's way, this too 
was a dance, one learned of practice and one which we now 
shared together as we advanced towards our first truly joint
pleasure, each striving together for both themselves and the

As the train settled into it's normal swaying motion I was 
once again fucking her closed fist with the movement of the
car's journey. She withdrew her hand from her pussy and took
my wrist, stopping mine as well and removing it from between
her legs. Sliding her hand over mine, she straightened and 
overlapped all four of my fingers, joining them together into
a single unit before pushing my hand once more towards her
vagina and a renewal of my labors towards her pleasure. 

My fingers slid in easily for an inch or two, before the 
constriction of her passage slowed and halted them. Pausing 
there, I withdrew them slightly, with a gentle twist, before 
pushing forward once again. Repeating and repeating the same 
movements until my fingers began making headway further and 
further within her. She moved her hand up and guided my left 
hand to her clitoris to pleasure her there, before bringing 
her hand to her face and licking at the gathered moisture which 
had trickled into her palm, twisting the hand around she offered 
me the fingers to suck clean. I did this greedily, biting at her 
fingers as they were buried within my mouth and her fingertips 
as they withdrew. 

As I'd leaned forward, the train swayed and I brushed heavily 
at the shoulder of a man beside me. As soon as I had finished 
her mission for me, I glanced over and again checked what I 
could in the glossy sign. Again, the scene about us seemed 
almost pastoral in everyone's studied indifference to each other,
no one seemed the least aware of or interested in anything  
occurring in our little corner of the car. Once again, I felt 
more secure in our actions.

Beads of perspiration were once again gathering on her upper 
lip and forehead as we continued, a sign I'd come to accept
as denoting her increasing pleasure and excitement. Further 
indications, were in her partly lidded eyes, her shallow more 
rapid breathing and the parting of her lips, the tip of her 
tongue just visible and touching her upper lip as her nostrils
flared with each shallow breath. 

My right hand, by this time was sinking to the back knuckles
on each plunge within her depths, her moisture production and 
muscle relaxation seeming to have both increased to accommodate
my invaders. My left hand was playing continuously with her
sensitive clitoris, wriggling it in place, circling it gently 
and attempting to pinch and capture the greasy little nubbin 
between my fingers and thumb. I was almost regretting having 
coated it with the lube, but my attempts at capture seemed to 
be pleasing and exciting her more than if I was actually in 
possession and control of it, so I guess it was a good thing. 

It was then that she released my prick, moving both hands to
my right wrist and stopping it's plunging run momentarily. I 
transferred my left hand to her right breast and began playing 
there again as she took me totally by surprise with her next
actions. Moving her hands forward and back, slightly, she seemed
to be positioning my fingers 'just so' within her sopping canal,
before, with her very next breath, suddenly pulling up hard on
my wrist and driving my fingers as deeply into herself as she 
could get them. My hand was again stopped at the knuckles and 
I was sure I could feel contact with her pelvic bone on either
side as she seemed to be trying to force even more of my hand
inside. Relaxing for a moment, she leaned her head forward,
onto my upper chest and shoulder as she gently pumped my 
fingers within her opening. With my left hand, I had spanned 
her entire left breast and was now squeezing it all, hard, 
trying to close my hand about it completely as I both felt
and heard a rumbling moan deep in her throat.

Worried again at our actions, knowing that my shoulders and 
jacket was shaking with her movements, positive someone had
to be hearing the now continuous mewling noises coming from her 
throat, I looked around more sharply, more obviously than I 
ever had before. Not a single person was paying any mind to us.
People were trying to read newspapers or books, or were staring
out the windows at passing buildings. Some stared vacantly at
the chest or back of the person before them, and I saw one 
woman seated on a bench seat doing crochet. 

Again, she pulled strongly on my wrist, trying to force even 
more of my fingers and hand within her once again, as I moved
my free hand to her right breast to stimulate it as well. I tried 
to help as best I could, trying to curl the sides of my hand as 
closely together as I was able, trying to narrow the breadth
of my knuckles and allow her what she desired, yet at the same
moment wondering, if she was successful, would we be able to 
remove my hand readily if she did get those knuckles beyond 
their current obstruction. 

It didn't happen though, for it was at that moment that she
crossed the threshold and was consumed by her own orgasm. I
thought she had passed out, and we almost exposed everything in 
that moment as she went slack against me. Her hands though had
a mind of their own and maintained their grip on my wrist as she 
bit mightily at the front of my shoulder stifling a low scream 
which rose up in the depths of her throat. With her knees apart 
and standing in the slight crouch she had adopted, she was unable 
to lock her knees and her weight began to sag against my hand, her 
hips and lower back sagging away towards the wall behind her, 
threatening to pull loose from my jacket and expose herself. I did 
the only thing I could think of. I grabbed her right breast, 
gripping it hard and used it to pull her forward and pushing up 
hard against her vagina as I also pressed my body against hers, 
pressing her tightly against the wall to hold her in position. 
Getting my arm behind her back I was able to support her through 
the quakes, quivers and twitches that now seemed to be taking 
possession of her body. I'd never realized that a hundred pounds 
of dead weight could be so awkward.

As things finally seemed to be going my way, we pulled into the 
next station and the doors wooshed open. The man behind my back 
moving away and out the door as someone else moved to take his 
place, putting further strain on my poor jacket and threatening 
exposure once again. Yet, it held and we were not exposed as I 
continued to support her in the best ways I could, my hard-on 
trapped between our bodies, and transmitting every twitch and 
flutter of her abdominal muscles as her orgasm seemed to be 
continuing forever. Finally though she was beginning to settle 
and calm as the doors once again closed and the train slid from 
the station.

It was another minute before she began stirring in my arms, first
she seemed to freeze in position, then it felt like she was trying
to twist away from my arms. Finally though her head lifted from my 
shoulder and I saw her looking around as realization seemed to 
re-establish itself in her mind. A look of intense pain crossed 
her face and she bit her lip as I was finally able to begin 
relaxing my grip and she once again supported herself on her own. 
I quickly brought my hands back between us, crossing them between 
us and grasping both flaps of my jacket, straightening its 
position as I stood away again and quit leaning my weight into 
her. Her hands went immediately to her right breast and her cunt
as tears of pain filled her eyes. 

Looking into my eyes, she saw the concern and compassion there 
and as I reached for her she gently shook her head and began 
to rearrange her clothing, hooking the brassiere, wrapping the 
dress back around herself and tying it off once again. As she did 
this, I reached between us and replaced my now limp cock back 
into my trousers and zipped them closed. Frustrated again, but
knowing it could not be helped.

Not sure of what her reaction was going to be, considering what 
had just happened, I did not try to touch her again, but simply 
stood before her as she plucked loose the two pieces of tape on 
her arms and dropped them to the floor. I did, however reach into
my jacket pocket and offer her my handkerchief once again, which
she took. First passing it, wincingly, between her legs, she then
refolded it to dab at the tears on her face before returning it 
to me and once again tenderly massaging and try to adjust her 
injured breast, giving me what I believed to be a 'how could you 
do this to me' look as she did so.

I opened the handkerchief and found a slightly drier spot on it
and used it to clean the remains of the lube and her from my
hand before returning it to my pocket. While replacing the damp
kerchief in my pocket, my hand brushed against something I had
placed there this morning, forgotten since she'd boarded the 
train, until this accidental contact reminded me. I'd passed a
just opening shop on the way to the station and had bought it, 
intending to give it to her on this ride to work. Considering the 
circumstances, I wasn't sure how it would be accepted, yet decided 
I should give it to her in any event, since that was it's intended 
purpose to begin with. 

Grasping it by it's stem, I removed the small bright white and
pink flower from my pocket and gently brought it before her eyes. 
She saw it and her expression softened again, her eyes seeming to 
mist as I watched them and as she gently took the proffered flower 
from my fingers and held it to her nose. 

The train was stopping again and I quickly looked around myself,
realizing that somewhere we had missed a station. This was the
station where the crowds thinned greatly and we should both be
back into our first stage positions; well separated in the car. 
The next stop would be her exit. 

She was beginning to reach out towards me, the flower yet at 
her nose when I stepped back and away, crossing the aisle and 
taking a now vacant seat on the bench there before once again
looking to her across the aisle. She was looking around in a
quick scan, taking in the thinness of the passengers and looking
outside, beyond the car until she realized where we were and
had reoriented herself in time and space. She looked to me, 
gently then and touched her breast with a pained expression before
once again sniffing at the flower in her hand with a gentle smile 
on her face. She stood quietly, gazing out the window and 
sniffing the flower in her hand until the train arrived at her 
station. Standing away from the wall she moved towards the opening 
doors. She winced once as she began moving, and gave me a long 
sidelong glance from narrowed eyes as she exited the car. 

I wasn't worth a shit at work all day, wondering if I had really
hurt her, envisioning her having to see a doctor or worse,
having injuries that would be obvious and cause her serious
troubles at home. I still knew nothing about her, and did not
know if she was married, or lived at home, or even had a boy or
girlfriend who would be outraged over the situation. I was even
unconcerned about the blood I found soaking my shirt where she'd
bitten my shoulder during her orgasm. I was fretful and jumpy all 
day until I was once again on the train, my jacket hanging loosely 
from my shoulders, leaning into that back corner of the car as she 
entered dressed as she had been that morning, and moved to the 
opposing corner across the aisle from me. She was carrying a small
shopping bag by it's handles and I wondered at it's contents.

At the appointed time, and the expected stop, I did not move but
remained in my corner, not looking at her, still thinking of the 
injuries I had caused her that morning and worried that our little 
games were going to result in one or both of us really getting 
hurt, or arrested, or possibly worse. Japanese courtesy and 
etiquette laws governing actions and courtesy to others on public 
transportation are enforceable by courts of law. 

People had been sent to prison for less than we had been doing 
that morning and I was seriously shook and a little nervous about 
the whole thing now, though mostly, it was all stemming from the 
injuries I feared I had truly given her that morning. She stood 
in her corner looking sidelong at me with her brow furrowed during 
the entire ride to the next station.

When the doors opened at the next station, and people began 
departing and entering the car, she moved, not being careful 
or unobtrusive at all, she crossed the car directly to me, 
placed her arms around my neck and kissed me, a long slow 
passionate kiss that had me melting as I stood with my back 
to the wall. As she began pulling back and away from me, I 
tried to follow her, standing away from the wall and trying 
to lean in to continue our kissing, but she had other ideas. 
Using my movement and her arms around my neck for leverage, 
she guided me around in place as she traded places with me in 
the corner, as we spun, I scanned the crowd and departing and 
boarding passengers. We drew a momentary interest from a couple 
of passengers, but were quickly ignored again. 

She placed the bag against the wall behind her legs and reached 
for the knot holding her dress closed with an impish smile on her 
lips and in her eyes. Realizing what she was about to do, I 
quickly spread my arms and the flaps of my jacket to hide her 
once again from view. Not a moment too soon, either.

As the dress fell open, I saw she wasn't wearing her bra and
my heart froze in my throat at the already deepening blue-black 
bruise that covered most of her right breast. At my hangdog, 
pitiful expression, she followed my eyes and touched the breast 
lightly with a fingertip before moving the finger to my lips, I 
kissed it, and she smiled for me, not simply with her mouth, but 
with her eyes as well. It was then that I noticed the bright red 
satiny panties she was wearing, a match for the bra she had worn 
that morning, though I had no idea where it had been hidden during 
the morning's romp. She reached for my trousers fly and deftly 
unzipped it, reaching inside and finding that I had removed my 
underwear during the day and she had free access to her prize 
which she was quick to bring into view. I had found myself stuck
to my briefs earlier in the day from the drying lubricant and
my own seepage, so I had removed them.

Reaching into the waistband of her panties, she removed the same 
small tube of lubricant from that morning and squeezed the 
remainder of the lube into her palm, then dropped the tube to the 
floor at our feet. My cock, which had been hardening since her 
first touch did so more quickly as she began stroking me, 
spreading the greasy lube on both my cock and her palm as she 
did so. Once she had me fully erect and lubricated, she stood as 
erect as she could, slid her panties aside and began to push her 
pelvis towards me, pulling on my cock as she did so. 

I'm still not sure how she managed it, even with the eight inch
platforms and stretching as tall as she could, even with me 
trying to crouch unobtrusively to aid her, the angles were wrong.
Yet, even with that, there was only one abortive attempt, where 
my greasy cock slid across the lips of her pussy, between her 
legs and the tip emerged under her buttocks beyond, before she 
actually managed it and I slid completely within her. The
lubricant prevented any friction or resistance and I was fully 
encased in her silky wet warmth. She simply eased herself 
forward then, her feet between mine and together, her arms 
going around my back and the rest of her body molding to mine.
I placed my left hand into the small of her back and simply
held her as I kept my right on the wall for additional support
and balance. 

We stood that way, outwardly unmoving, as our journey continued, 
our only movements consisting of a light swaying with the trains 
movements, and the unseen flexing and relaxing of her vaginal 
muscles about my shaft. She rested her head on my shoulder once 
again and I simply closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations as 
the train continued it's journey and began braking for the second 
of the sardine stations. The jostling of the departing and boarding 
passengers only added to the sensations I was feeling, and the 
train hadn't much more than begun to move again before I began 
filling her from what almost seemed a bottomless reservoir of cum.
Even though I had been relieving the building pressures by hand 
almost nightly since we'd met, there is nothing like the real 
thing to truly empty the well of it's liquid resources. I was 
shaky and my knees were wobbling as I slowly softened and 
eventually slipped from within her. Only my hand on the wall 
had kept me from staggering in weakness after that energy 
draining release, I think she realized this too, if I read the 
spark in her eyes and the smile on her face rightly. 

Reaching into my jacket pocket, she again found a fresh kerchief
and used it to clean me up before slipping me back into my 
pants and zipping the fly for me. She returned it to my pocket,
reached between her own legs slipping two fingers within herself, 
making small stirring motions before removing them, and slipping
her panties back into place. Bringing her fingers to her mouth 
for a taste of me, as she closed eyes and simply leaned against 
the wall behind her for a long moment. She closed her dress then, 
looked into my face and licked her lips with a broad grin, then, 
from somewhere, she produced the flower I had given her that 
morning sniffed it and leaned into my arms and rested her head 
on my shoulder. 

The rest of the journey, we simply stood and held each other as
the train and crowd seemed to gently sway and move around us. 
I, and I think 'we', were lost in our own little private world 
as the train travelled on, and it wasn't until we had actually 
arrived at her stop that either of us moved again. I had 
completely lost track of where we were, lost in the moment and 
in her.

She turned us and stepped away from me as the doors opened and
people began departing the car. She picked up her bag, looked 
into my eyes, I saw her expression seemed to be sadness itself 
again as she lightly kissed my lips once more. Placing the bags
handles in my palm she whispered "Goodbye," and was away, walking 
out the door of the car. It wasn't until the door was closing that 
it finally came to me. So lost in the moment and myself was I that 
I didn't connect her expression, the soft gentleness of her touch 
and kiss, nor the significance of her single word departure until 
she was out of the car and the doors were already closed. It was 
too late then.

The bag contained a new shirt, similar to the one we had ruined
together the day before. Later when I tried it, I found it too 
small to wear. There was a small pink and white flower in the
pocket of the shirt. I kept them both.

The following Monday, as I'd already come to expect, she did 
not appear in the car at all. Nor on Tuesday, Wednesday or 
Thursday either. She was gone, though I wasn't truly ready to 
accept it yet. Friday, I left home earlier, riding another train 
to her station and positioning myself to watch the westbound 
platform as people boarded and departed the arriving trains. I
stayed until Noon, then gave it up and returned home. 

Once, drunk, a few weeks later, I rode the train to her station
and wandered the streets for what seemed like hours, but not
knowing her name or anything else about her, there was no one
I could ask and nothing I could do to locate her. I had to give 
up on ever seeing her again, and eventually I did.

Yet I believed then, rightly so, that the entire experience would 
remain locked in my memory forever. It has, and sometimes
when I am in the right mood and I have a peaceful moment I think
back and remember those moments of sweetness, passion, danger
and joy on the Japanese Subway, and I smile a secret smile.

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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