Public Transportation

Lynne has been watching the handsome stranger on her long train rides and knows he's been looking at her, but he's never made an approach. Then one exceptionally busy day, she's knocked into his lap. They take full advantage of the moment to enjoy each other, both there in his seat and later in the public restroom at their destination. Only problem with their hot encounter? No birth control. And it isn't long before her belly is swelling...

Excerpt:
I saw the handsome stranger on the train every week. Riding out to the country on Fridays. Heading back in to the city on Mondays. Always on the exact same schedule that I was on. We saw each other enough to smile and nod in acknowledgement, in recognition, but we had always been separated by a large enough crowd that we never spoke.

I wondered about him. There was no wedding ring on his finger, but that didn't mean anything. Men often didn't wear one, even when they were happily committed to their wives and families.

Very few single people spent the weekends out of the city. Unless they were like me. A series of bad luck with jobs at companies that had subsequently closed up shop meant that I was working at a position far lower than what I’d gone to college for. Earning much less money to pay off my student loans, so I’d gone back to live with my parents on the weekends. A friend of theirs had an apartment in the city who let me crash on their sofa so I didn’t have to commute as often.

The ride on the train was over an hour long each way. Not something I wanted to do every day in addition to working a full-time job.

The stranger looked like he might work in an office. Always wearing suits. Somehow managing to stay impeccably pressed despite riding on crowded public transportation.

I caught him looking at me, sometimes. His eyes often locking on my legs. As time passed, I started wearing shorter and lighter skirts on the train, giving him a better view of what he wanted to see.

And yet he never approached me.

It was frustrating.

I couldn't say when I had begun to fantasize about him at night. How I would hide under the blankets on that lumpy sofa and touch myself while thinking about him. How I locked myself in my old bedroom on the weekends, burying my face in my pillow so my cries could not be heard as I brought myself to orgasm with my fingers.