My awareness of a pleasant warm-wetness of the gusset of my ooh-la-la organic thong is surpassed by a sensation of the nerves contracting in my groin … his finger is touching me oh so wonderfully.
It started in the slack-time before Christmas with a Facebook recommendation to join the No-Pants Subway Ride! group. It sounded intriguing. I am not an exhibitionist, but enjoy good fun. I have been a little apprehensive initially, considering the recent New York Post report on the intentions to clamp down on subway nudity. There has been this report about ‘naked art’ on train L. People assume strange semi-nude mannerisms of, for example, having a tattoo-like drawing on some body part, of an artefact held in the hand. Another report about a man than fondled himself on the subway and another that masturbated. The most daring of reports, a photographer is accompanied by his volunteer model, who quickly disrobes when given a signal, to pose nude among commuters. The photographer fires off a number of shots of the model in various revealing positions, where after the model quickly dresses. The photographer subsequently held an exhibition of his favourite Nude Yorkers.
I discovered that the ninth No-Pants Subway Ride is an annual organised event that already spread to 22 cities around the world. In New bursa escort York, where it started, the 2009 event had about 1200 supporters, equal numbers in gender, of all ages that spread out over four subway lines. I decided to join a group of women that I know to partake on Sunday 10 January 2010. We agreed to meet at a pub near the assembly point and go as a group.
There were all kinds of no-long-pants: boxer shorts, boy shorts, Lycra gym pants, swimming trunks, bikini bottoms, hipster hot-pants, fitted briefs, body shirts, teddies, some short skirts (with panties), jockeys, even y-fronts, thongs, T-backs and some g-strings. There were every conceivable colour, lots of different patterns, pictures, and slogans. Fabric varied, including, for example, cotton, silk, synthetic, some lace and not too revealing mesh. It had been quite a spectacle to observe, but the idea behind No-Pants Subway Ride is to permeate the ordinary commuters and act nonchalantly—as if nothing is extraordinary—which is what the few thousand participants set out to do. Once we boarded a subway, I took out a book that I took along and started reading.
It is quite an engrossing novel. I got so absorb that I did not notice my friends disembarking at some point. I felt at ease sitting there with my unbuttoned eye-catching bursa otele gelen escort royal-purple knee-high tweed coat, a recent acquisition. I had chosen comfortable ankle-high black healed-boots and bright lilac, lime-green and white legwarmers. I specially bought an ooh-la-la wine-red organic bra-and-panty set. The low-cut cotton-lace of my thong felt comfortable and a little daring against my body. When I got dressed, I felt good looking in the mirror at the cleavage-enhancing effect my new bra gave my Cs. I have left the top buttons of my white tailored cotton shirt open, to show off my single amethyst stone, hanging on a gold chain just above my cleavage. The shirt fits perfectly and I love the three-button turn-back cuffs. My copper-brown hair is beautifully styled in a bob. I have varnished my nails royal-purple.
I am reading how the lovers in my novel are embracing, kissing, he pulling her short red dress up and groping her soft g-string divided bum-cheeks … she deep-tongue kissing him, putting her hands down his pants and she parting her legs … when I feel someone staring at me. I looked up and there across from me sit this beautiful man dressed in business suit, without the pants.
He got up and while walking towards me complemented bursa türbanlı escort me on my appearance, ending with my wine-red panties … I look down and realised that I must have parted my legs when the character in my novel did. Blushing, I blabbered that it is organic cotton and he continued casually talking about organic consumables and global warming. I found his company entertaining. We talked about literature, theatre, films, music, various areas of interest. At a point he remarked how late it is and offered me dinner. Just before we disembarked from the subway car, her extracted the pants of his suit from a shopping bag and put it on.
He took me to a posh restaurant and we got a semi-concealed table. After consulting me about taste he ordered a wooded chardonnay and toasted to our new found friendship. I loosened the bottom-end buttons of my coat in order to sit comfortably. We ordered food and continued talking comfortably about a wide range of topics. He placed his hand on my knee. Having established such wonderful rapport, it felt good. He stroked the bare skin of my inner thigh, while talking about ambitions, future holiday plans, etc. I felt aroused and parted my legs. He moved his hand to my crotch and stroked until he pinpointed my clitoris, which he continued stroking. I relaxed and felt it coming slowly … closed my eyes, bite my lip and a most exquisite orgasm exploded.
There had been no need for dessert, but suit-man had to have coffee, in order for his erection to subside. While waiting for our Irish coffees I stroked his erection and felt it moving under my hand.
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