Author Topic: [ORIG] Evening Train [NC17/frottage] [FIN]  (Read 1200 times)

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Offline evilgrin

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[ORIG] Evening Train [NC17/frottage] [FIN]
« on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 02:55 PM »
Author: evilgrin
Title: Evening Train
Rating: NC17, semi-consensual frottage
Fandom: Original
Disclaimer: All characters, locations and situations are products of my imagination. Any similarities to persons/events living or dead is purely coincidental.
Pairing: unnamed OFC/OMC
Summary: A woman on a routine trip back home after work, frazzled and annoyed by the commute, she has to tolerate an overly friendly passenger.
Feedback: In this thread only. No shreds.
Archive: VX and FDB only

On the train she could catch up on her reading. Scan the newspaper. Keep up with the world. 37 minutes. That's how long the trip took from city core to home. Most of that was spent underground. Which is where the reading had come in. The idea was that she would read, put her head down and try to shut out the fact that she was jammed in a train with so many other people in the dark. Get home sooner. Do her part for the environment.

That was the theory anyway.

She had even brought her book for the first few days. Ever hopeful. Where she got on, there was no hope of getting a seat. For a few days, she had tried to catch the train further down to see if that would improve her chances. It hadn't. Just left her feeling foolish for having spent nearly as long in finding a new station as she would on her way home. She gave up on the idea.

Settled for holding onto the central pole near the door. Even when the lights came on, she left her eyes closed, after a while. Closing her eyes, she held onto the pole, trying not to think about all the other people that touched it before her. That was another one of those things that she hadn't thought about when she moved to the city. Sold her car, started taking the train in. All those people that she had to share the train with.

The lights flickered on, off, she could hear the click in the dark. Back into oblivion for a half a breath. In the darkness it was always worse. Everything amplified. Not able to see, the mind compensated with imagery all its own. The smell of sweat crept out beneath expensive cologne. The jungle smell of urine crawled around the corners.

What was whispered gained intent in the darkness. The old woman across the car could be talking to herself, muttering. Or it could be something darker, more desperate. A man in a well-tailored expensive suit become another man in the dark. They all did, that was what she had always believed.

In time, she grew used to the motion. Eyes closed, she would shift her feet further apart as they neared a station so that she wouldn't fall over. So she wouldn't have to hurt her hands or break a nail trying to hold on.

Expensive silk snapped tight as her leg swung out automatically. Cupping her rear and accentuating the lines of her leg, her thigh. This was another thing that had bothered her at first, this display, but stumbling down the aisle was worse. Holding on was easier.

The back of a hand brushed across her rear and was gone. She didn't flip out. She would have once, but she had done the same thing. It wasn't difficult. In the dark, on a moving train full of other people. A muttered sorry and the owner of the hand would move on.

No apology came. Not everyone was polite. That too wasn't a big deal. Nothing worth getting into a fight with a complete stranger over. Plus, she had a nice rear. 1 ½ hours a day at the company gym was one of the perks of her job. So some guy on the train got a feel, it wasn't the way she normally took her compliments but it wasn't really a big deal.

The train jolted through another turn and she hugged the pole again, her legs spread wide for leverage. The bottom of a hand bumped hers on the post as a man, it had to be a man, no woman could have, or would have, reached over her and placed his hand above hers.

His body was a solid weight behind her. If there was somewhere for her to move, she might have done so. But then again probably not. The train was, as always, mostly men; was she to run in fear every time one bumped into her? That was intolerable.

The lights flickered on and then off again as the train rocketed around another turn. His body pressed more firmly against hers, pressing her purposefully into the pole. She shifted her head and the steel pole bisected her body, nestled between her breasts, down the line of her torso to her navel as though drawn there. A quick image of strippers went through her head, making her uneasy. Not because the comparison made her uncomfortable or afraid, but because it made her aroused.

She pressed the side of her neck into the bar, resting on her hand. That her hair would brush against the man's hand also occurred to her but it was too late to move now. And she didn't want to.

He was taller than she was, which wasn't terribly surprising. Perhaps 6 feet, a good 6 feet. It was dark, so looks were out. That was interesting. He couldn't see her either. Maybe a glimpse of her rear when the lights flickered. If he was looking. The image was back as she thought of strippers.

20 minutes or so, that's how much time was left. Then she would get off the train. Walk. Maybe catch a cab. Go home and feed her cat. So she didn't move.

She had to rely on all of her other senses to get an idea of him. He didn't apologize; for most of the people she met on the train, the apology was automatic. They bumped and 'sorry' was out of their mouths before another step was taken.

So voice was also out. He wasn't rude though, when he could have been so easily. His hand rested just above hers, his form skimming along the back of her body.

He didn't wear a suit either, or at least not that she could tell. Her face brushed skin at one point; his arm was bare, maybe to the elbow, maybe higher. She wondered if he wore a tee-shirt. Jeans, or maybe those comfortable-looking chinos that young men wore. The thought made her flush a little; it had been a long time since she had looked at a man that attracted her.

That thought made her smile; she hadn't even laid eyes on him yet, how could she be attracted? Then again, he couldn't see her either, yet here he was.

Her cheek brushed against his arm, the hair raising in goosebumps in the wake. Briefly she turned, unable to see but able to touch. Not with her hands but with her lips, which brushed across his skin. Her muttered apology was automatic and insincere as she ducked her head back down. Feeling brave. Feeling foolish.

The man didn't pull away from her, didn't say anything. Made no movement that would show that he had even noticed what she had done, never mind think it intentional.

Fingertips skimmed over her left hip. Was it the same as before? Was it arrogance or paranoia to think so? There was no way to know for sure. She didn't ask. Like the last time, there was no apology which led her to believe that it was the same person that had touched her before.

Unlike the last time, the hand didn't leave. It wasn't a quick, surreptitious ass-grab, this was different. This man's touch was light. Confident but gentle. Pushing to see what she would allow.

What would she allow? 18 minutes. What would she dare? Fingertips fanned in a waterfall, pinkie first, trailed by the others in a tentative caress, darting across the seam of her skirt. She wondered if he would follow the seam all of the way down to her leg, but he didn't.

At the nadir of his stroke, he reversed course; the pressure, the intent, clearer. More deliberate. His index finger blazed a trail; middle, ring and pinkie following.

She held her breath at the top of his stroke as his hand nudged the waistband of her skirt. She waited for him, wanting this complete stranger to touch her. If he turned and left, got off at the next station, what would she do? What would she say? What would he?

Breath held, eyes closed, she held her body still and waited. Nearly gasped as the pads of his fingers moved forward, not down, until the broad palm of his hand cupped where his fingers had stroked before. He had large hands; his palm held her hip, strong fingers spanned across the front of her thigh to the outer vee of her mound.

His hand was rough, strong. She could imagine that if she held it, that it would be callused. Briefly she wondered if it would also be filthy, but he smelled clean. He wore no cologne, didn't smell 'pretty'. He smelled male, sensual, raw. And clean.

A squeeze and then his hand moved again, palm flat, fingers splayed out. She wondered how her hip in its expensive silk skirt felt under his hand. She wondered if he was as aroused as she was at the touch, or if this was commonplace for him, something to pass the time.

Unbidden, the image of a stripper, an exotic dancer, came to the fore of her mind. A woman like that, a dancer, would she be upset if a man that stared at her, devoured her with his eyes, moved on to something else in say 17 minutes?

The muscles in her thigh tingled and flexed. Not to pull away. She wouldn't take her hand from the pole. His body pressed to hers but without force. His weight carefully draped across the back of her body. Not to pin her, but so that she could feel him. Or so that he could feel her.

His chest was warm, pressed into her, and she could feel his strong heartbeat against her back. Eyes closed, she could count his heartbeats. Hers were faster but not by much.

His belly skated over her lower back, so that she knew that he was fit, healthy. She wanted to feel more of him. As his hand made another pass over her hip, she felt first his belt buckle and then his erection, through fabric, press into her lower back.

She swallowed and he waited, an interminable minute that they didn't have to spare, but she didn't move. Didn't flee or scream. Didn't round on him and curse him out.

When his hand reached the bottom curve of her rear, his palm lifted. Fingertips again. Claiming, he followed the line, she could imagine that the silk would dimple in as his hand swept inwards, his touch lightest when he reached and tapped the hollow where the cleft of her rear met her spread thighs.

His breath had sped up but so had hers. Like before with her hip, he caressed. Didn't rush. Up the seam in the back a short distance before it became awkward in the confined space between them. The man didn't shove her, or push her into a position that would better accommodate him. She imagined his erection would get in the way of his hand and, rather than shift his hip from where it ground against her, he would rather shorten his stroke.

That image had her hold her breath again, picturing that moment when her rear, his probing fingers, and his erection all touched for a fraction of a second before he moved on. That the thought made her wet should have shocked, or even angered her, but it didn't.

For her it was brazen, but the moment for pulling back in outrage had passed. 5 minutes ago when he touched her and she did nothing. 3 minutes ago when she touched him back. Her thighs spread slightly, imperceptible to all but the man behind her.

He paused, an interminable moment where she didn't breathe. Eyes closed, she leaned against the pole and listened. His heartbeat thumped against her back.

The train swung into another station and stopped. Would he leave? If she reached down and grabbed her case and left, would he follow her? He asserted his position, a near-embrace, an intimacy that thrilled her in its novelty.

His hand was insistent, against her firmly, nearly possessively, as the new passengers jockeyed for position, pushing past. She was on a crowded evening train, being felt up by a stranger. A shudder rippled out from her center. Lust. That those on the train couldn't see her in the dark, that likely wouldn't care either way, didn't change the way it made her feel.

Searching, his fingertips sought out the center seam of her skirt and, as with the seam at her hip, he caressed with fingertips first. Up, to the top of her cleft, before he swept with the flat of his hand. Down, the pressure pushing the silk out in a tiny bow wave in front of his fingers. Breaking at the top of the slit at the back of her skirt.

His body leaned in further, shielding her, as his middle finger moved from the silk of her skirt to the silk of her thighs.

Arousal swirled trough her with a force that she was sure could be seen. No man had ever touched her like this, and definitely no stranger had ever done so. His arousal was clear, pressed firmly against her lower back, the weight shifting slightly in a rocking motion.  It shouldn't have surprised her that her arousal should be shared, but it did. The feeling of sexual power only added to her arousal.

He pressed forward, fingers exploring without prodding rudely. Middle finger first, the remaining trailing back in a chevron to sweep up the insides of her thighs.

Her underwear was damp but it was a little late to worry about it now. Worry seemed silly. He was wet too; a small warm spot deposited against the skin of her back, through her blouse. She imagined a small bead of pre-cum raising in a perfect droplet at the head of his cock before it penetrated the silk of her blouse, saturating the fabric with its salty essence.

It nearly tickled, he was that gentle, as he ran his middle finger over the damp gusset of her thong, careful not to touch the skin of her sex. Pushing further, rubbing harder, he swept over the small triangle of fabric. She could picture him, his eyes closed as were hers, exploring the outer edge of her sex through the sodden fabric of her panties.

He could have easily slid beneath, touched skin to skin, and wanting him to do so nearly drove her mad. His middle finger just touched her clitoris and she bit back a gasp. When she touched herself, it was always skin on skin, nothing in between. The cloth should have dulled the sensation. It didn't. That she was wet and so incredibly aroused intensified the sensation to the point where she felt she would come just thinking of it.

Moving back, he inserted tips of two fingers into her wet opening, soaking her underwear further as the cloth was pressed inside her. His ring finger touched her hot inner lip briefly and she had to suppress the jolt, not wanting it to end.

He lingered, his fingers pressed within her body, their skin separated by the idea of her underwear. Withdrawing slowly, he moved forward to her clitoris again, imperative. Not rubbing, just that pressure; it was enough just to touch her. That he was there was enough.

His hips shifted against her back rhythmically and she felt his erect cock sliding against the fabric of his clothes, against the fabric of hers, against her skin in a delicious friction.

Her heart pounded and she bit her lip, feeling dizzy and light-headed. She was going to come, right there on the train with all of those people, all of those complete strangers. They may not have been able to watch but it didn't change how it excited her.

He was coming too, she could feel him shudder behind her, could feel his heart race and his breath quicken. For the first time in her life, she came at the same time as the man she was with, a man she didn't know, hadn't even seen.

2 more minutes and the bell for her station would ring. Her throat tightened and she wondered how she could leave, or if she would have to stay on the train until she could figure out what to do.

Slowing breath fanned out over her neck as he bent down a little. He didn't speak as he brushed over her outer ear with his lip. Didn't kiss her either. Rested there for a breath, it felt more intimate than a kiss, while he removed his fingers and straightened her skirt, smoothing it down over her rear. It was a touching gesture, unexpected.

He let go of the pole as the train moved into the station and caressed her other hip. It was rough and possessive, oddly familiar and affectionate, and she stood, legs spread, while this complete stranger held her from behind. He held her still, which was just as well; she still trembled slightly in the aftermath of her orgasm. It also kept her from turning around, either to leave, or to look at him. She still hadn't seen his face.

A disembodied electronic voice signaled that they were about to pull into her station. The doors opened and people began to rise, to push out of the doors. Still holding her hips, he finally spoke, a whisper against the skin of her ear, before he slipped out of the doors and into the waiting night.

“Same time tomorrow?”
« Last Edit: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:44 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline silver

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« Reply #1 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:20 PM »
mmmmmmmmmm...

Oh my.
I've ridden buses to work, & clung to the pole the whole way, but nothing hot like this ever happened to me.
 If I decided to jettison the car & start taking the train, I wonder if it could be construed as an unhealthy habit....?

So very nice:
Quote
His body leaned in further, shielding her, as his middle finger moved from the silk of her skirt to the silk of her thighs.

and:
Quote
He lingered, his fingers pressed within her body, their skin separated by the idea of her underwear.


Ficlets rule!
Write more.
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by silver »


...insatiable...

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #2 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:24 PM »
well, it is listed in the DSM IV as a mental disorder, hahahha
it's funny the stuff I think of when I have to travel :D
thanks, Silver!
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline NorthernLights

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« Reply #3 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:46 PM »
OMG!  This is almost enough to convince me to start using public transit again.  Almost.     :hide
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by NorthernLights »

Offline silver

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« Reply #4 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:56 PM »
Quote
listed in the DSM IV as a mental disorder


A mental disorder??
Uh.....(sorry, I got nothin'.)

Quick, what's DSM IV?  I think I need to, ahem, broaden my horizons, as it were, so they say, savvy?
 :laughter
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by silver »


...insatiable...

Offline NorthernLights

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« Reply #5 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 03:59 PM »
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders... a little light reading for your train trip    :)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by NorthernLights »

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #6 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 04:02 PM »
thanks Northern Lights...it can be a lot of fun for the price of a bus pass :)

DSM IV
frotteurism/frottage is listed as a paraphilia

Quote
Paraphilia (in Greek para παρά = besides and -philia φιλία = love)—in psychology and sexology, is a term that describes a family of persistent, intense fantasies, aberrant urges, or behaviors involving sexual arousal to nonhuman objects, pain or humiliation experienced by oneself or one's partner, children or other nonconsenting individuals or unsuitable partners. Paraphilias may interfere with the capacity for reciprocal affectionate sexual activity. [1] Paraphilia is also used to imply non-mainstream sexual practices without necessarily implying dysfunction or deviance (see Clinical warnings section). Also, it may describe sexual feelings toward otherwise non-sexual objects.



I don't tend to agree with the DSM IV's characterizations (I'll have to look to see if it's been changed, but it does/did list homosexuality as a mental disorder. It's an interesting source for ideas, but not so much on the understanding/enjoyment side

Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline photo_chick

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« Reply #7 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 04:30 PM »
Holy mass transit Batman.

 :love
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by photo_chick »
I am an achievement whore and Vin Diesel is enabling me.

Offline silver

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« Reply #8 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 07:37 PM »
Oh man, I'm so sorry I did that...that was waaaaaay more than I needed to know.
But strangely, so much has already been addressed in some/most of my fics...why is that??
:shock
Knowledge is good, I know this...then why do I feel so dirty??!?
 :dance
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by silver »


...insatiable...

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #9 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 07:40 PM »
snickers, I wouldn't look at the DSM as anything more than the most basic of source material
sex is good
our mystery woman could have turned around at any point and given him a piece of her mind, but she didn't so it's all good :b
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline photo_chick

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« Reply #10 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 10:39 PM »
I think now I'm completely convinced that my bedroom needs a stripper pole. I'm realizing that it could serve so many, many purposes.

Now how to explain it and the Kama Sutra chair to people who visit..... :bow
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by photo_chick »
I am an achievement whore and Vin Diesel is enabling me.

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #11 on: Sat, Dec 29, 2007, 10:41 PM »
you could do what I always do...say that it's all yoga props :sing
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline DragonFire

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« Reply #12 on: Sun, Dec 30, 2007, 01:12 PM »
:drool  :dream  Damn, that was a good story. :rock
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by DragonFire »

Offline jaimejo2929

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« Reply #13 on: Mon, Dec 31, 2007, 07:37 PM »
Quote
Holy mass transit Batman



DITTO!!!!!

 :bow  :bow
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by jaimejo2929 »

Offline Helen Page

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« Reply #14 on: Tue, Jan 01, 2008, 11:54 AM »
This was absolutely wonderful EG and just what I needed tonight, though my personal memories of rush hour rail/tube commuting consisted of irritating and slightly sozzled businessmen or grimy workmen (don't get me wrong, I've nothing against grimy workmen but you can see where they've been instantly by the brick dust they leave all over the place!).

If commuting had been anything like this, trust me, I'd never have given up daytime working!
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by Helen Page »


Offline photo_chick

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« Reply #15 on: Wed, Mar 12, 2008, 09:55 PM »
Had to bump this one back up. It was definitely worth another read through.
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by photo_chick »
I am an achievement whore and Vin Diesel is enabling me.

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #16 on: Wed, Mar 12, 2008, 10:01 PM »
thanks!
there was good solid layer of dust on there!
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline Helen Page

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« Reply #17 on: Wed, Mar 12, 2008, 10:20 PM »
Got the notification, re-read the story and wish I hadn't (had migraine tonight and my poor old bonce is pounding again, presumably with the raised blood pressure!).
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by Helen Page »


Offline karikocha

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« Reply #18 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 09:52 AM »
That was just sinful.....and sooo delicious. Made my mouth water.
Simply stunning Evil :kiss
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by karikocha »

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #19 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 09:54 AM »
thanks for rereading, Helen!
And thank you so much, Karikocha :D Nobody sexy ever feels me up on the train...sigh...
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline karikocha

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« Reply #20 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 10:06 AM »
Quote from: "evilgrin"
Nobody sexy ever feels me up on the train...sigh...
Elaine:)



Hehe, you know you left me wanting more.
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by karikocha »

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #21 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 10:07 AM »
that's always the good part though :D
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline karikocha

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« Reply #22 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 10:09 AM »
Lol. Yeah your right, you know your good when the readers want more. :)
But you my dear are Evil....lol.
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by karikocha »

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #23 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 10:12 AM »
:)
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline Helen Page

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« Reply #24 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 11:35 AM »
Part of what I love about this story is that we don't really know her, know nothing about him and just enjoy the moment.  I even like the fact that we will never know whether she/he has to work late the next night, misses the train, etc.  I like to be able to plan little scenarios in my head about what happened next.
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by Helen Page »


Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #25 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 11:37 AM »
yep, they don't even have names. They could be anybody :dream
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

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It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.

Offline briteyes1993

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« Reply #26 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 01:48 PM »
This was amazing..I love the ending..It would make me want to "RIDE"  the train everyday :dream
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by briteyes1993 »

A big Thanks to evilgrin for the siggie




"Never judge a book by it's cover..the pages inside reveal So MUCH more!"

Offline NorthernLights

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« Reply #27 on: Thu, Mar 13, 2008, 07:56 PM »
Definately one for the Hall of Fame!

Never get tired of reading this one.

 :hide
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by NorthernLights »

Offline missjazzyann36

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« Reply #28 on: Tue, Mar 18, 2008, 11:16 AM »
:candle   :rock
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by missjazzyann36 »

Offline evilgrin

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« Reply #29 on: Tue, Mar 18, 2008, 02:32 PM »
thanks, MJA!
gotta love those odd little kinks :)
Elaine:)
« Last Edit: Wed, Dec 31, 1969, 04:00 PM by evilgrin »

my stories  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Homepage
It was a rainy night in the big city. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the scum off the streets. And I'm stuck in it without an umbrella. What a tool.