Hi all:
You never you know you are going to meet on the commuter train. Let me give you a prime example by relating what happened to me just today.
I was riding the Septa home at my usual time. The train was almost deserted because most people had taken off early for the holiday weekend. As we traveled on I was just looking out the window when I heard someone sit one seat away from me in the aisle seat. Glancing over I saw a woman in a blue pinstripe pantsuit and white silk shirt. Her honey gold hair was tied back in a tight bun and she had a breifcase with her with a "Wall Street Journal" sticking out of it. Her left side was closest to me and I noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring. 'Executive', I surmised, 'probably a mean bitch to everyone under her.'
After one or maybe two more stops I noticed Ms. Blue Pinstripe had slipped off her black 'Mary Janes' and had put her black stockinged feet on the seat opposite her. She glanced over at me and asked if I minded her removing her shoes. I said I didn't mind and slipped my own off to prove it. Now some of you might remember my accident while painting a few days ago (refer to my post "Having A Wild Weekend" if you missed that) and the bottoms of my feet are still partially blue. Ms. BP asked how that happened and I related the story in an encapsulated form. She just related that she was a catering manager at some posh hotel and she was tired after a hard day.
Don't ask me why but I asked if she wanted a massage. At the time I had no ulterior motive . . .honest I did not! She actually smiled and offered her unshod feet to me. At first I really did just massage her feet but them my evil side took hold of my fingers.
I quickly raked my nails up her left foot and she reacted like an electric shock had gone through her. That was what I had been hoping for and I fluttered my fingers across her soles. She started giggling and shook her head as if to ask me to stop. Did I? Get serious! Her sheer stockings must have only intensified the tickle sensation and she shook her head so violently her tied up hair came loose and flew around as if she were in a windstorm.
"Why what's wrong? I finally said in my 'I'm-So-Innocent' voice, "Are you ticklish?" She could not answer, I was firmly in control of her and the situation.
I could not in all good conscience tickle torture a complete stranger. After a few minutes I just teased her toes and she finally sputtered "Oh please stop!" so I did.
She was gasping to regain her breath and then started to tie up her hair again while I said "Hey, I'm sorry. I don't usually do that to women I don't know. It just sort of happened." Then she actually smiled at me, reached over and put her hand on my knee and said "That's okay. It wasn't that bad. It was sort of fun."
Well soon after that the train pulld into 30th Street Station and we both got off. As we parted company on the platform Ms. Blue Pinstripe handed me her business card. As she got on the elevator I could have sworn she winked at me.
So will I ever call her? Will we ever get together?
To tell the truth, I don't have an answer to that question yet.
You never you know you are going to meet on the commuter train. Let me give you a prime example by relating what happened to me just today.
I was riding the Septa home at my usual time. The train was almost deserted because most people had taken off early for the holiday weekend. As we traveled on I was just looking out the window when I heard someone sit one seat away from me in the aisle seat. Glancing over I saw a woman in a blue pinstripe pantsuit and white silk shirt. Her honey gold hair was tied back in a tight bun and she had a breifcase with her with a "Wall Street Journal" sticking out of it. Her left side was closest to me and I noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring. 'Executive', I surmised, 'probably a mean bitch to everyone under her.'
After one or maybe two more stops I noticed Ms. Blue Pinstripe had slipped off her black 'Mary Janes' and had put her black stockinged feet on the seat opposite her. She glanced over at me and asked if I minded her removing her shoes. I said I didn't mind and slipped my own off to prove it. Now some of you might remember my accident while painting a few days ago (refer to my post "Having A Wild Weekend" if you missed that) and the bottoms of my feet are still partially blue. Ms. BP asked how that happened and I related the story in an encapsulated form. She just related that she was a catering manager at some posh hotel and she was tired after a hard day.
Don't ask me why but I asked if she wanted a massage. At the time I had no ulterior motive . . .honest I did not! She actually smiled and offered her unshod feet to me. At first I really did just massage her feet but them my evil side took hold of my fingers.
I quickly raked my nails up her left foot and she reacted like an electric shock had gone through her. That was what I had been hoping for and I fluttered my fingers across her soles. She started giggling and shook her head as if to ask me to stop. Did I? Get serious! Her sheer stockings must have only intensified the tickle sensation and she shook her head so violently her tied up hair came loose and flew around as if she were in a windstorm.
"Why what's wrong? I finally said in my 'I'm-So-Innocent' voice, "Are you ticklish?" She could not answer, I was firmly in control of her and the situation.
I could not in all good conscience tickle torture a complete stranger. After a few minutes I just teased her toes and she finally sputtered "Oh please stop!" so I did.
She was gasping to regain her breath and then started to tie up her hair again while I said "Hey, I'm sorry. I don't usually do that to women I don't know. It just sort of happened." Then she actually smiled at me, reached over and put her hand on my knee and said "That's okay. It wasn't that bad. It was sort of fun."
Well soon after that the train pulld into 30th Street Station and we both got off. As we parted company on the platform Ms. Blue Pinstripe handed me her business card. As she got on the elevator I could have sworn she winked at me.
So will I ever call her? Will we ever get together?
To tell the truth, I don't have an answer to that question yet.
