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 interrurtion occured. 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 away.
.... There is more of this story ...