Valentine’s Day Erotica: I Should’ve Said Hello

I got on the train and looked around for a seat, not knowing what would happen. How could I know? How could I have possibly predicted that the train carriage would be the inspiration between this Valentine’s Day erotica story? I couldn’t have known. I could never have predicted him.

It was busy. Morning rush hour. Not many spare spots. My eyes darted around for a handrail with space instead, then accidentally nudged my elbow into his gut as I made my way over to it.

“Shit,” I muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” he smiled back, and our eyes met for just a second.

His were brown. Dark, rich, deep brown. Knowing. Glinting. Mischievous. If I had to guess, I’d have said he was around 45, maybe 50 years old. His mouth was pulled into a crooked smile, and it reached all the way up to the deep-set crow’s feet around his eyes.

The train swayed back and forth in the way they do, and our bodies crashed together from time to time. Not hard. Not soft. Somewhere in the middle. Enough to make my heart beat a little faster.

Say hello.

He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, mixed with a cologne I couldn’t recognise. It was a scent that shouldn’t have worked, but it did. It suited his salt n’ pepper hair and aged face. Aged, but not ugly. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

I wondered if he could smell my perfume. I’d spritzed myself with J’adore as I ran out of the house. Could he smell my day, the blueberry muffin and hastily drank cup of tea I’d had for breakfast, in the same way, I could smell his?

We crashed together when the train stopped at the next station, a few more people piling on. The more cramped it became, the more we were forced closer. Closer. Closer, still.

Wish him a Happy Valentine’s Day.

He was taller than me. Not that, that’s difficult. I found myself gazing into the middle of his chest, hoping that my hair looked just as cute from above as it had done front-on in the mirror. And then, I berated myself for even caring. He was just some chap on the train. I’d probably never see him again. I’d certainly never seen him before; I’d have remembered.

My eyes trailed down to his hands. No ring on the right hand. Left hand in the pocket of his dark blue jeans.

Bugger.

No flowers, though. No bag with a card and Valentine’s Day gift in it. No smirk on his face to give away naughty little date night plans. He was too handsome to be single.

Another stop, another station, another round of being pressed against a complete stranger, who I’d started to develop slightly complex emotions for, at eight o’clock in the morning. Where was he going? Was he off to work like the rest of us? He wasn’t dressed smart enough to have an office job. More smart-casual. No briefcase, either. And he was wearing Converse high-top trainers instead of shiny formal shoes.

Ask him what he does for a living.

I inhaled his heady scent once again. Was that a hint of female perfume? My heart sank at the thought, and I shifted on the tiny spot of train carriage I’d claimed as mine. He did the same. Our fingers connected, just for a second, as we manoeuvred our now-sweaty grips on the rail.

Tell him, you think he smells like someone you’d like to fuck.

It took me a second to realise that I was staring at his chest again, watching it slowly rise and fall as he inhaled, then exhaled. We were pressed so close that I could kiss him with a reach of my tiptoes, and every cell in my body was daring me to do it.

Kiss him. Just do it. Just kiss him.

I wondered if he’d be the kind of man to cup my face in his hands as he kissed me. Perhaps he’d grasp the back of my head in the same way that morally grey love interests do in slightly spicy movies. He placed both hands on the rail, steadying himself, as if he’d read my mind.

No rings.

His hands were large, the perfect size to cup my cheeks. Slightly calloused, too. Not rough enough to be a manual labourer, but rough enough that I could tell, he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. I wanted to get my hands dirty right alongside him.

Hold his hand.

My face flushed with heat. Did he know the effect he had on me? Could he tell that I was daydreaming about his fingers gliding all over my skin? My heart hammered in my chest; could he hear it? See it? I was so sure the answer was yes to both.

He shifted a little when we got to the next station, and my heart sunk to the floor at the prospect of losing him forever. I had so much I planned to say to him, so much that I wanted to do to him. I willed him to look at me, catch my gaze. If he did, I’d tell him.

Tell him every filthy fantasy.

His eyes darted around the carriage, but never in my direction, never at me. I fidgeted and shifted to encourage it, but he was punishing me with complete ignorance. He didn’t get off the train, though.

Tell him to look at you.

What if I kissed him, right there and then? Ran my hands through his salt n’ pepper hair? Trailed my fingertips down the front of his shirt, lingering for a second before getting to work on his belt, then his jeans? I wouldn’t even have cared about everyone else in the carriage. Heck, I’d have even put on a show for them.

Let’s show them what we can do, Mr. Salt n’ Pepper.

We’d start by lowering his jeans and underwear. Boxers? I wasn’t sure he looked like a boxers man, but he didn’t strike me as a briefs man, either. Maybe he went commando. My cunt clenched at the thought, and I exhaled loud enough to finally encourage him look at me.

Tell him, you want him.

I parted my lips to tell him every truth, every fantasy, everything I want to do to him on that packed train carriage…

But he looked away.

I stifled a groan of frustration. If only he could read my mind. Would he have the stirrings of an erection if he could? Exhale as loudly as I just did? Stifle his own groan of frustration?

I flooded with arousal at his hard-to-get game… that he had no idea he was a part of. My nipples strained against my cotton bra. Had I known that he’d be on the train I’d have selected much cuter lingerie to wear under my clothes. Maybe he was the simple cotton bra type?

Show him and see.

Blood rushed to my core as daydreams of him consumed me. My heart was thudding so hard, still, that I could hear it. Thud, thud, thud, thud. He licked his lips, almost in slow motion, and my pulse quickened even more. There’s no way he couldn’t hear it. No way at all.

His scent gently billowed around us. Lust gnawed away at me. I shifted from left foot to right foot, then back again, needing to release some of the heat that was held hostage between my thighs. He had the kind of aura that often came alongside a substantial dick and the knowledge of how to use it – and I wanted to put that theory to the test.

I wanted to hitch up the skirt of my dress. Not remove it; only hitch it up enough to give him enough of an enticing view. I wanted to catch his gaze, and for both of us to smile with just our eyes, and for him to give me the nod that said, “Yes. Get on your knees.” And then, I wanted to do just that, to get on my knees and slowly unwrap him like the beautiful Valentine’s Day gift, he was.

I’d have bet money on him having a beautiful dick. An exquisite one. One that made dropping to my knees an absolute treat, something I couldn’t ever get enough of.

Touch it. Reach out and touch it.

My cheeks flushed once more with heat, and this time, our eyes locked. Could he read the thoughts inside my head? Was he looking into my soul, drawing out the filthiest fantasies that my mind could muster? Was he thinking about burying his fingers inside my cunt… like I was?

The train stopped at another station, and we crashed together again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders in a protective move that stopped me falling to the floor. I almost wished that he hadn’t caught me, and I lowered my eyes to avoid his gaze at that thought.

The carriage was slowly emptying. Slowly. There weren’t many stations left on the line. Mine was the last station; would his be, too? I gulped at the thought of losing him, and unease built in my core.

“You okay?” he checked, with a grittiness in his voice that did wicked, wicked things to my libido.

I nodded.

Tell him what you’re thinking.

“Yes, thank you,” I finally managed to croak.

My body ached for him. I couldn’t explain it, but it did. It ached for his calloused fingers and probably exquisite dick. The closer we got, the longer we spent together, the more I needed him. Fifteen minutes on that train had passed by in a split second, but it seemed to last for longer than an eternity, too.

Now or never. You’re running out of time.

Excitement and anticipation scorched through my veins, and my cunt virtually throbbed with need. I could still feel his touch on my shoulder even though his arm had gone. I’d probably have melted into a puddle on the floor if he touched me again.

Tell him that.

Two more stops to go. Two more chances to spill the beans, to ask for what I want, to tell him what I want. What did I want? Did I want him to fuck me all over the train carriage, in full of everyone else if necessary? Did I want him to stand up straight as I fell to my knees and worshipped him until he erupted all over my face? Did I want him to drop to his knees?

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

One more stop to go, then we’d be at the end of the line. My fingertips edged towards his on the metal railing.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I squeaked, then inwardly cringed as I hoped the train would bottom out and make me disappear.

Why did you say that?!

“And to you,” he replied curtly.

And then, he moved. He let go of the railing, adjusted his shirt, then made two small steps towards the train door. Sixty seconds later, he was gone. I’d missed my chance. He was unsatisfied, and so was I.

You should’ve said hello.

I should’ve said hello.