I am a 24-year old female, a world-class athlete. I'm a big woman, almost six feet tall, long-legged and well proportioned. My breasts are not large for my overall body size, but they're well formed and I'm by no means flat-chested. Men friends tell me I've got an "ass to die for." Nobody's actually died yet, but the men do seem to sigh a lot. I'm not revealing my sport or my nation of origin, because I wish to protect my identity. But I'm a Westerner, and I want to share an unforgettable experience I had last summer in Japan.

Unlike many international athletes, I take full advantage of travel opportunities, using free time to see as much as possible of the major attractions of any country I visit. Last year, while in Tokyo, I was returning by train from a visit to the nearby port city of Yokohama, where I'd spent the day, alone. It was warm, and (despite already having experienced chronic staring from the locals, either because of my height or my foreign appearance) I had dressed for my outing in a flimsy T-shirt top and nylon shorts. All day I'd enjoyed the admiring, longing looks of the Japanese men.

But I made the mistake of returning to Tokyo in the midst of late afternoon rush hour. I have been on crowded trains and subways in other major cities, including New York, but they were nothing compared to this! There were actually uniformed men on the train platforms, shoving people into the doors of the cars, forcing more and more in until everyone standing (myself included) was pressed tightly on all sides by the crowd. It was unnecessary to hold onto an overhead strap: there was, quite literally, no place to fall!

The coach I was in was well ventilated (unlike the subways of New York) so the discomfort was limited to the extreme closeness of the commuting masses. I stood out above the mostly shorter locals, gazing with alarm at the incredible crush of humanity, mostly men dressed in business suits, occupying all available space.

I wondered how long it would be until the train stopped somewhere and let some of these people off. To my absolute astonishment, when it did stop, only a small number of people left the train, and a greater number was forcefully pushed in to take their places. I was standing near the end of the car, and the man behind me was against the car's wall, with my body pressed tightly against him.

As the train left the station, I noticed the pressure of the man's hardening penis behind me. This man was taller than the average Asian, and the pressure was increasing, low between my cheeks.

I didn't become angry with the man. With this abnormal proximity, the rocking movements of the speeding train caused an unavoidable friction between our bodies that was no more his fault than mine. Under the circumstances, I thought, it would have been more surprising if he hadn't gotten an erection.

Just in front of me, a smaller, shorter Japanese man stood facing me, his face alarmingly close to my chest. This diminutive fellow was striving mightily to avoid having his face pressed right into my breasts, but it was a losing battle. With every lurch of the train, his nose, and sometimes his mouth, would brush against my unencumbered nipples, or get buried between my breasts. Looking down at him, I could see that none of this was deliberate. His face showed his embarrassment, and his eyes, raised to meet mine, pleaded for understanding. Embarrassed or not, though, I soon felt, through the fabric of his trousers, the pressure of another male erection, this one against my left leg, some distance down from the Promised Land.

"Well," I thought, "at least this one can't reach me!"

The taller man behind me was experiencing considerable discomfort. His penis had been hanging downward when he encountered me, and his erection was trying to force itself upward, but was finding no available room to make that possible. I felt, on the back of my thigh, his hand as it attempted to squeeze between his leg and mine -- no doubt to make an adjustment.

At that moment, the train entered a tunnel and became dark. Interior lights came on briefly, bathing the car in bright artificial light, but after a few seconds, they went off again. So much for the perfection of Japanese technology!

In the pitch-dark train, I wondered how long this tunnel was -- trying to remember from the reverse route I'd taken that morning. But I'd been reading then, and there had been ample light. I couldn't really remember.

The man behind me finally managed to wedge his hand up to his crotch. "Sorry," he muttered in English as he adjusted himself until his penis at last was able to point upward. I knew he had to be at least as tall as I am, because earlier I'd felt his clothes-bound erection at the base of my ass, whereas now his still-hard cock was nestled, base-to-tip, between my buttocks. The train's movements caused it to rub provocatively against me, mostly from side to side, but occasionally, with only a slight change in the train's speed or direction, it would move up and down as well.

Meanwhile, the little fellow in front of me had taken advantage of the darkness to cover not only his own embarrassment, but also my left nipple. I had brushed against his face once too often, it appeared, and the man had given up the fight, taken my hardening nipple into his mouth through the T-shirt's flimsy fabric, and was tickling it wetly with is tongue.

I didn't know whether to pray for light so that this man would pull back, or hope that the darkness would continue. I have sensitive breasts, and this was beginning to feel quite lovely.

The man behind me was moving his hand again -- perhaps this time to attempt to extricate himself from between my cheeks. But no. I felt his left hand, this time, cupping my buttock, his fingers inside the fabric of my shorts, gently stroking just outside the panty line.

This was no more an accident than the ministrations being provided by my short friend in front! These two were taking maximum advantage of the situation we'd found ourselves in. I perhaps should have cried out in the darkness for assistance, or at least indicated to them both that I was indignant.

But I really wasn't indignant. All the attention was turning me on! The warmth of their bodies was strangely gratifying, and the taller fellow's fingers -- although limited in their ability to move by the extraordinary crowding -- were sending wonderful tremors through me.

So instead of crying out, I found myself arching my back, to the limited extent permitted by the circumstances, to make it easier for Tall Man's wandering hand to reach under the hem of my panties.

Short Man, meanwhile, had created a soaked-through spot on my T-shirt with his unabashed licking and sucking of my nipple. Both my nipples were as hard as the two penises that were still rubbing against my body! Short Man's left hand, meanwhile, had found my bare leg, and he was attempting to stroke my inner thigh, just above the knee, with his barely movable hand.

God! I was finding this whole experience to be an incredible turn-on. By now, my body language had told Tall Man that he had no reason to fear any resistance from me. He removed his hand, and I mourned its sudden departure from between my legs, and tried to determine what he was doing behind me now. With his open palm, he pushed at my buttock, transmitting to me a message to move my body forward, away from him, to the extent that I could do so. I tried to comply, forcing myself even tighter against Short Man in front, and causing him to increase the vigor of his wet sucking of my tingling nipple.