I’m thinking about what would happen if you were on the train with me. You’d probably be sat next to me, rubbing my cock through my trousers, grinning at me and trying to catch other passengers eyes. One woman looks at you, then looks at your hand, then back to you. She doesn’t look away. She’s sat next to a man, her husband, judging by her wedding ring. While she’s looking at you her legs part slightly, and her head eases back against her seat as she watches you rub me.
Your hand leaves my crotch and you get up to go and speak to her. The carriage is pretty empty; only a few passengers absorbed in their phones. You lean over and whisper in her ear. I don’t know what you said, but I can guess. You come and sit down opposite me, smiling, and soon the woman comes and sits down next to me. Her hand replaces yours. Your hand has disappeared under your skirt.
The woman’s hands are older than yours, but I’m too distracted to guess at an age. I look at her in silence, the outline of my cock doing all the talking as she works it with her fingers.