TRAIN TRAVEL by C. Lakewood I met Jo on a blind date in the spring of my junior year. We hit it off well and subsequently saw a lot of each other. After I graduated -- with an Engineering degree -- she had one more year, but we stayed connected and married the following June. That was nine years ago, and we've been happy enough, though "happy" might not be exactly the right word. To tell the truth, the intensity has gradually vanished. It's a bit hard to explain. We didn't become hostile or even indifferent toward each other; we just seemed to drift apart, into separate orbits that occasionally intersected. As a result, our life together became rather predictable (even boring at times), but comfortable. We have no kids -- she can't conceive -- and that may have made a big difference. Some months ago, my company sent me to Japan for a year to superintend the installation and initial operation of a rather complicated process at one of our Asian affiliates. (I do speak some Japanese, having spent a couple of years on Okinawa, but I can't read it.) Jo came with me. I was not tremendously enthusiastic about going, but I did think that the change might be a welcome diversion of sorts...for both of us. ****************************** The job was in Tokyo, but the apartment provided for us was outside the city, so I had to take a train in to work. Since I was relatively experienced (in the past, I've commuted into Chicago and into Philadelphia), I figured I knew what to expect. But.... That first morning, when the train pulled into the little suburban station, it was already pretty well packed, except for one car. Naturally, I started to board that one, but a uniformed attendant officiously shooed me away, repeatedly pointing to a pink sign (in Japanese!). Then I spotted an English translation: "This carriage is for ladies only." Meanwhile, several of the "ladies" were gibbering at me and apparently calling me a variety of things, including "gaijin" (which I knew meant "foreigner" -- or "foreign devil") and "chikan" (which meant "pervert"). I recalled that men groping women on crowded trains had been quite common in Japan for some time, but I was still annoyed...especially since I had to board a car in which there were no empty seats and not even much standing room. By the time we'd made a couple of stops down the line, there was NO spare standing room at all. Everyone was wedged in tightly; my nostrils were filled with a spicy alien stench; I was continually being jostled; and, as a result, I was even more pissed. So I clung to a chromed pole and swayed along with the train, trying to be better than everybody else and not to bump the nearby riders any more than I had to. Then the train suddenly decelerated, and, caught unprepared, I lurched forward into the woman standing an inch or two in front of me. My right hand was mashed against the woman's butt...and I instinctively squeezed. And she didn't flinch or react in any way. I had several quick thoughts, tumbling over one another. First, I was grateful that she didn't scream, hit me, or demand my arrest. Second, it occurred to me that, since groping in Japanese trains was a more popular sport than baseball or martial arts -- and, since she hadn't opted for the "ladies only" coach -- perhaps she LIKED a touch of anonymous fondling. Third, I decided to test her limits. And, fourth, maybe I WAS a bit of a pervert after all. I proceeded to survey what I could see of the woman. She was wearing a scarlet suit (shameless show-off!), with a short jacket and a skirt whose hem was beyond my field of vision (we were so closely packed). She was tallish for a Jap woman as she stood, but was probably wearing heels, so she must have been about 5'2" barefoot. Maybe 110-115 lbs. Her hair (black, of course) had a few artful streaks of grey, but was no real indicator of her age. If I had to guess, my gut feeling was that she was probably 40-something. She smelled good...subtle, suitably inscrutable. By this time, my earlier annoyance had been pretty much dissipated by this new prospect, but I was driven forward (into what I later realized was very risky behavior) by a combination of arrogance, stupidity, and (increasingly) lust. I felt her ass a bit, then investigated her skirt's waistband. It was too tight; I could barely get my fingers underneath it. Regardless how long her skirt was, I knew that if I wanted to score, I'd have to get my hand up under the hem. I glanced around. Everybody nearby seemed to be reading or meditating (or maybe even concentrating on a grope themselves). After caressing her ass a bit more, I began gradually pulling up her skirt in back. It was slow, clumsy work, since I could use only my right hand. (My left arm was wrapped around the metal pole, and my left hand held my portfolio.) Eventually, though, I had edged it high enough that I could snake my hand underneath and up to her ass again, fingering her thighs in passing. And still she didn't react. I was reacting, though. I had a monumental erection, stoked by what was certainly the most excitement I'd had in months. I slid my hand past the waistband of her pantyhose and then down into her panties. I was on fire. It was intoxicating, exhilarating. I could practically hear the testosterone throbbing through my veins. The unthinkable danger, the unbreakable dominance.... My fingers slid between her legs and up through her sparse pubic hair. I was invincible. I played with her erect clitoris, and her breath caught. Then I gained the entrance to her drooling cunt and slithered a finger inside. Her cunt-muscles contracted a bit, but there was still room, so I added a second finger. Despite her passive exterior, her cunt was hot and wet and eager. She even wriggled her ass cheeks around my wrist. I began sawing my fingers in and out...in and out.... It seemed to take a looong time, but, eventually, she uttered a tiny whimper, and her cunt spasmed, tightening on my fingers and then slowly relaxing. She gave a soft hiss of satisfaction. I extricated my fingers, wiping them clean on her pubic hair, her thighs, and the crotch of her panties. (Even so, my hand still carried her scent hours later.) As we pulled into the terminal, I gave her ass a final squeeze and withdrew my hand, letting her skirt fall back into place. The train stopped, and she moved forward, toward the front exit, while I edged backward into the current of commuters leaving by the door behind me. Outside, on the platform, I spotted her up ahead. She was gazing about, as if looking for someone. She was attractive, but, at the moment, somewhat frazzled. Moreover, her eyes looked dazed, I thought...yet there was a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. A moment later, the surging crowd bore me away. (I had enough presence of mind, however, to carry my portfolio in front of my tell-tale crotch.) ****************************** I actually got more work done that day than I'd expected, it being my first day there. I had an unusual amount of energy and confidence and an almost preternatural clarity. By the end of the day, I had begun to wonder how I could infuse my marriage with some of this as well. ****************************** Over a bottle of sake that evening, I told Jo what had happened on the morning's commute...in complete detail. She was, by turns, incredulous, hurt, angry, derisive, curious, and fascinated. So far, so good. But, when I suggested that she might enjoy being a gropee, she reversed right back to incredulity, and I had to work through the whole gamut of emotions again. I was hopeful, however, since I already knew that she had something of a submissive streak (though I had no idea how compelling it might be). In the end, she did promise to consider the proposition...and I could tell that the prospect excited her. Even so, it took her three days to agree. ****************************** Thursday evening, we made our preparations for her adventure the following morning. First, we depilated her crotch to virtually pre-adolescent smoothness. Then, we sorted through her wardrobe for an appropriate outfit. After some debate, we settled on a thin white tank top (without a bra), a blue denim mini-skirt, thong panties, and flip-flops. For the record, Jo is a honey-blonde, 5'7", about 135 lbs., 34B-26-36, and she looked stunning in those clothes. I knew the male commuters were going to love her. (And, despite her initial reluctance -- real or feigned -- she could barely wait until morning. She was only 31, but some women need reassurances about their sex appeal at even younger ages.) We left the apartment very early -- and separately -- on Friday morning. Jo was dithering, outwardly uncertain whether to go or stay. But it was all show, I knew; she was clearly aroused...so much so that she could barely speak...and nothing could prevent her going. ****************************** We stood some distance apart on the platform, but I might as well have been invisible, since the waiting passengers, 99% male, were all looking at Jo. And she was well worth looking at. (I was wearing sunglasses, so I could stare wherever I liked, as long as I liked. The rising sun behind her was turning her hair to spun gold...and rendering her tank top translucent. Though the air was still cool, she was perspiring. (Was the sheen on her thighs merely sweat...or was it also cunt-juice?) I did think the skirt could be improved. It was short, but might be even shorter.... She was still showing some ambivalence. At times, she just stood there pigeon-toed, biting her lip and tugging on the hem of her skirt. But then she would stalk a few paces back and forth, subtly twitching her hips and wriggling her tits...and causing erections to rise all along the platform. (I was not affected; I'd had a continuous hard-on since before breakfast. I had also taken the precaution of wearing a condom, because I didn't want to have to clean up another ungodly mess like Monday's.) Finally, the train arrived, and I boarded a car through one door while Jo entered it through the other -- followed by a mob of potential gropers. I took up a pre-planned position, from which I could get a pretty good look at Jo, who was facing me. It helped that I was significantly taller than most of the other passengers. Less than five minutes after the train had left the station, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. The Great Grope had begun. I wasn't able to see all of it, because the gropers surrounding her were ebbing and flowing and sometimes hid her, but I saw a lot of it, and what I saw I thoroughly enjoyed. (And she obviously enjoyed it, too.) When we alighted at the terminal, she joined me briefly. All she could say was, "Wow!" We made plans to meet for lunch, and she suggested that she might rest up, meanwhile, in a movie. ****************************** At lunch, she didn't look particularly rested. As it turned out, not knowing more than a smattering of Japanese, she had inadvertently chosen a porno theatre to "rest up" in. She entered during the opening credits, but hadn't been in her seat more than a few minutes when she realized what sort of movie it was. But, by that time, the die had been cast; a man had sat down on either side of her and almost immediately began feeling her up. One soon got into her panties, while the other pulled her tank top down around her waist and busied himself playing with her tits. The double feature had lasted almost three hours...or 10-12 orgasms. Add in the 8-10 on the train (according to her recollection), and it was no wonder she looked shop-worn. I phoned my assistant and got the name of a modest, nearby hotel and took her there, where she actually could rest up the remainder of the day. ****************************** When I picked her up late in the afternoon, she seemed much restored. As we left the hotel room, she handed me a small wad of cloth -- her panties. I put them in my pocket without comment. The train ride home was similar to that morning's, though detouring to the hotel meant that we missed the main crush of rush hour passengers. The somewhat thinner crowd didn't mean less groping, however. I even became a participant, not merely an observer. I threaded my way through the press to a position behind her, slipped my hand between two gropers who were working on her cunt, and began fingering her asshole (something she'd always been reluctant to let me do). It gave me a feeling of exaltation to be playing with my wife's virgin asshole amidst a mob of horny Japs. For all she knew, the perv diddling her asshole was another stranger. She was standing passively, gripping a pole tightly with both hands. Despite the more than 20 orgasms she'd already had that day, when I shoved my thumb up her ass, she climaxed so hard she went up on her toes. She was moaning softly, continuously, but I wasn't able to do anything more, because just then I was elbowed out of the way. I retreated to my original vantage point and pulled out some tissues, intending to wipe off my thumb. But then I saw that that was unnecessary; my thumb was clean and, in fact, smelled sweet, like flowers...or soap. Apparently, besides resting, Jo had made some preparations. It was interesting and would bear thinking about. ****************************** We had a long, earnest, and honest conversation that evening, freely sharing our thoughts about what had happened and what we hoped would happen in the days to come. Jo wanted to repeat her porno theatre experience (but with me watching from a row behind). She also wanted to visit a strip club, a whore house, and a public bath. I wanted to watch a teenage Jap girl dominate her and a young Jap stud introduce her to various perversions. I also thought it would be great if she didn't just visit a strip club, but got a job there. And, of course, we both wanted her to continue riding the train. We were both so turned on that we spent virtually the whole weekend in bed. ****************************** Building on that start, we are closer now -- and more passionate -- than we were even as newlyweds. Will it last? Who knows? But, at least for now, our marriage has been reinvigorated, we've developed many compelling interests in common, we've made a host of new friends.... And we've re-upped for another year in Japan.